Birthdays and Beyond
by Bad Mum
Summary: Formerly "Birthdays" Birthday celebrations and other events amongst Fred Weasley's friends and relations after his death. Tears,laughter, fireworks, Firewhisky, dragons, angst, cups of tea, hugs, fights and more. Some bad language. Post-DH AU/SU.
1. Oliver's birthday

There's a lot more of this to come. Not all of it will be from George's point of view either. Comments welcome!

**14****th**** July 1998**** Oliver Wood is 22**

_Dear George, A bunch of us are getting together for my birthday on the 14__th__. 8pm for drinks at The Leaky Cauldron and then on to Merlyn's to dance the night away. I guess we'll pick up some food at some point to soak up a little of the booze! If you can't face it, everyone will understand, but it would be great to see you. Oliver._

_Dear Oliver, Can I say "Expect me if you see me"? Some days are better than others as I expect you can appreciate. If I do make it, __please__ make sure no one treats me like an invalid or avoids all mention of Fred's name. G._

"So, are you coming or not?" Lee asked George in a quiet period in the shop that afternoon. "At some point in the next four hours or so you'll have to make a decision."

"Don't hassle me, Lee!" George snapped. "Decision making isn't my strong point at the moment, as you may have noticed." Lee had. He and Ron were making a lot of the decisions about the business that should have been George's. He understood why of course, but it couldn't go on much longer.

"Fred wouldn't want…" he began tentatively, but at that, George's anger – always near the surface since Fred's death – bubbled over.

"How the hell do you know what Fred would or wouldn't want?" he shouted. "God, Lee, _I _don't even know, so why the fuck should you? I'm going to do those orders. You mind the shop."

By closing time, George's anger had abated somewhat, and he managed a mumbled: "Sorry" to Lee as they shut up shop.

"Look, mate," said Lee. "I'll hammer on your door on my way past at about eightish. If you want to come, fine. If not, just ignore me, okay?"

"Okay," sighed George. "Thanks Lee. See you…"

George lay on Fred's bed looking at the ceiling. People were always telling him these days what Fred would or wouldn't want. He was damned if he understood why they thought they knew. He had never imagined he would die and leave Fred alone, and he was as certain as he could be that Fred had never envisaged dying without his twin either. Though they'd never really talked about it, George was pretty sure that both he and Fred had felt the same way about the war against Voldemort. Either they'd both come out of it pretty much unscathed – give or take an ear here or there – or they'd both die. One of them dying and leaving the other on his own hadn't been an option they'd considered. But then the unthinkable had happened, and that _bastard _Fred had gone and died and left George alone in a world where everyone except him seemed to think that they knew what Fred would have wanted.

He heard Lee banging on the shop door below, and yelling: "George! Are you coming?" but he ignored him. How could he go to a birthday party when Fred had died just a few short weeks ago?

An hour later, however, he rolled off the bed and pulled open the wardrobe door looking for something suitable to wear. The silence in the flat was just too much for him. Even Ron wasn't there at the moment, having gone off somewhere with Hermione for a week. George had to admit that they'd probably earned a holiday, but he missed Ron's untidy presence in the flat more than he'd care to let on. Admittedly, he and Ron were a bit wary of each other these days, both nervous of saying or doing something that would make the other's grief harder to bear, but at least Ron had _been_ there. George was not good at being on his own.

George pulled on a sweater – it was Fred's, but what did that matter? – and dragged a comb through his hair. He knew he probably looked a mess, but he was avoiding mirrors if he possibly could, so he didn't check. On the way out, he raided the till, putting an IOU in the cash drawer (Fred had done that all the time, and it had driven him mad), then made his way slowly along Diagon Alley and in through the back door of The Leaky Cauldron.

Oliver's party were easy enough to spot. A lot of the older wizards and witches in the bar were looking with considerable irritation at the riotous group of young people in the corner. For a moment, George hesitated in the doorway, wondering what the hell he was doing there, and whether it was too late to escape. It was. Alicia Spinnett spotted him, and with a delighted cry of: "George!" hurried across and hugged him.

"Good to see you George!" said Oliver. "You obviously heard me say it was time for another drink. You'd better drink fast, mate, you're two rounds behind the rest of us." Almost against his will, George found himself absorbed into the noisy group of his former classmates and team mates. And, thank God, they all seemed quite happy to let him sit there with his drink and not be the life and soul of the party as he and Fred would have been in earlier days.

After a while, it became obvious that they had more than outstayed their welcome in The Leaky Cauldron, so they decamped to Merlyn's Nightclub at the far end of Diagon Alley. The loud music and flashing lights must have some sort of therapeutic effect, George decided. At any rate, he began to feel that he was almost enjoying himself, and had to rapidly suppress a twinge of guilt about it. Fred wouldn't want him to be miserable all the time, after all. (Dammit! Now he was doing it too!)

At 2am, a Chinese takeaway in hand, they all weavingly made their way to the flat Oliver shared with a fellow Puddlemere United player. As this sort of party often does, they began drinking toasts, which became increasingly ridiculous as the sky lightened and dawn approached. Everyone had just finished laughing at the toast to: "George's left ear!" when Angelina Johnson stood up, swaying slightly, but looking unexpectedly serious.

"Fred Weasley!" she shouted, lifting her glass high. There was silence in the room, and George felt every eye on him. Swallowing hard, he raised his own glass: "Fred Weasley!" he said; and then the others were joining in and yelling Fred's name to the rafters. And George discovered that it didn't matter that tears were running unchecked down his face, because everyone else there had loved Fred too, and a lot of them were crying as well.

He was going to have one hell of a hangover in the morning.


	2. Neville and Harry's birthdays

This one's a bit of a cheat, because the party itself isn't actually in it. But I think the conversation between Harry and Ron makes the point I want to get across.

**30****th**** and 31****st**** July 1998**** Neville Longbottom and Harry Potter are both 18**

"So do you think your Mum will mind, Ron?"

"Wha'? Mind what?"

"I knew you weren't listening," said Harry, a note of distinct irritation in his voice. "Will you put that thing down and pay a bit of attention to what I'm saying?"

Ron reluctantly lowered the Muggle football magazine that Dean had loaned him in an attempt to explain the attractions of the game. Ron was perplexed at the idea of a sport where there was only one ball that did not move of its own accord, and where the players ran around on the ground rather than flying. He was completely unable to get his head round the idea that such a game might be interesting or exciting.

"Okay, I'm listening," he said, rolling over on his bed to look at Harry. Both of them were now staying in the twins' – no, George's – flat above the shop, helping to sort out the backlog of orders that had accumulated over the last few months while the shop had been closed. Ron was pretty certain that he'd be staying there long term – if George would have him of course – but Harry would be going back to Hogwarts in September to take up a delayed place in the 7th year and do his NEWTs.

Harry sighed, and began his explanation again. "Neville suggested we should go for a meal at Carlino's to celebrate both our birthdays as they're only a day apart," he said. "I want to know if you think your Mum'd mind us not having dinner at The Burrow for my birthday."

Ron frowned. "It's hard to tell these days with Mum," he replied. "Some things you think she'll take really hard don't faze her at all, and then something really minor will set her off crying all day. What does Ginny think?"

"She said she liked the Carlino's idea," said Harry, "but I think that's just because she can't cope with the idea of a celebration dinner at The Burrow without Fred."

Ron frowned again. "She'll have to cope with it pretty soon," he pointed out. "She comes of age in a fortnight. Can you seriously imagine Mum not wanting a family dinner for that?"

Harry shook his head. "No, I can't. But I'm not proper family. Your Mum should be okay with us not celebrating _my_ birthday at your place."

"You're as close to proper family as it comes, mate," said Ron, his ears reddening. "And you know everyone else thinks so too, but I do see your point. Carlino's would be fun. Who're you and Neville thinking of inviting?"

"As many of the DA as we can get hold of," answered Harry, "you, Hermione and Ginny of course. Luna, Dean, Seamus. George, if he'll come. Lee, Katie. Don't know who else is around."

"Cho?" suggested Ron, a gleam in his eyes, but Harry refused to rise to the bait.

"Yeah, that would be good. We need some Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs to dilute us Gryffindors a bit."

"I hope you're prepared for Ernie Macmillan to make a speech then," grinned Ron. Then: "Harry? Would you invite Percy?"

"Yeah, if you want me too," said Harry, surprised. "D'you really think he'd want to come?"

"I dunno," said Ron, his ears reddening again. "It's just, oh I dunno, he comes back, and he's one of the family again, but everyone's so busy coping – or trying to cope – with-with Fred," his voice cracked, and he swallowed hard before he continued. "That it's like we haven't got time for him, or to notice that he _is_ back. And Bill's at Shell Cottage with Fleur of course, and Charlie's off in Romania again, and we're here, and so's Ginny more often than not. And George is here too, of course, but even if he wasn't, he'd scarcely notice if Percy was there or not with the state he's in. I just thought it'd be nice for Percy. Make him feel a bit more included or something."

Harry regarded Ron with surprise, not used to his friend analysing people's feelings like this. Maybe something of Hermione was rubbing off on him. "Okay," he said, nodding. "We'll invite Percy too."


	3. Ginny's birthday: George

Ginny's birthday is going to run to several chapters. I wanted a happyish one about George - with perhaps a bit of foreshadowing of a romance - because I refuse to subscribe to the "George will never get over it" school of thought.

**11****th**** August 1998**** Ginny Weasley is 17**

**1. George**

George really had no idea what he was looking for. Fred was the one who was good at choosing presents, not him. All he knew was that his little sister was coming of age tomorrow, and he wanted to get her something special. Fred would have walked into the shop, charmed one of the assistants into helping him, and found something that was absolutely right within ten minutes. He didn't have that sort of talent. It was just one of the many things that Fred had been better at than he was.

"George!" He turned in surprise at the sound of his name.

"Katie! What are you doing here?"

Katie Bell grinned at him. "Well I might ask you the same question since this is a ladies' clothes shop!"

George smiled ruefully. "I'm trying to find a birthday present for Ginny, but I haven't a clue what to get her. Fred's the one who's good at presents, not me." Katie frowned slightly at his use of the present tense to describe his brother, but decided to let it go.

"Good thing you met me then," she said brightly, taking his arm and towing him towards an array of brightly coloured scarves. "How about one of these? They're expensive though…" She looked doubtfully up at his face, but he nodded.

"They're lovely. Ginny would love one of those. And after all, my baby sis won't come of age every day. She's pretty special, you know, Katie."

"You're pretty special yourself, actually," thought Katie, but decided against saying it out loud. "Okay then," she said briskly. "What colour?" George looked so blank at his that she couldn't help but laugh at him. "Honestly! Men are _so_ clueless about some things!" she said, running a hand along the rack, selecting four of the scarves and holding them up in turn next to George's face, squinting at him as she did so.

"Katie! What the heck are you doing?" he demanded, trying to back away from her. But she held his arm and refused to let him escape.

"Don't be thick, George. You've got the same colouring as Ginny – if it suits you, it'll suit her too. How 'bout this one?" She held up a shimmery olive green scarf, embroidered with silver stars and moons, for his inspection. George knew at once that Ginny would love it.

"Thanks Katie, it's just right," he said, relief in his voice.

Katie smiled. "Well, go and pay for it then," she told him. "Then you can take me for a coffee as a reward for being so helpful."


	4. Ginny's birthday: Molly

A very short chapter, this one, but Molly Weasley is due a look-in.

**11****th**** August 1998**** Ginny Weasley is 17**

**2. Molly**

Molly Weasley sat at her kitchen table looking at the birthday cake she had just finished. She had to admit it was one of her best ever. It was a miniature Quidditch pitch, hung in the Gryffindor colours of scarlet and gold, complete in every detail. A flick of her wand tomorrow would even send the tiny players whizzing round the cake on their broomsticks.

Molly sighed, wishing she could feel a bit more enthusiastic about her only daughter's coming of age. She knew that all the family intended to do their very best to make the party a success – as much for her sake as for Ginny's she suspected – but she also knew that every single one of them would be thinking about Fred, and wishing he was there too.

Hearing the unmistakeable sounds of her husband's arrival in the yard outside, she mopped her eyes hastily with the edge of her apron, and fixed a smile on her face. This was supposed to be a happy occasion after all.


	5. Ginny's birthday: Ginny, Hermione, Fleur

This is a long one. I hate writing Fleur's accent!

**11****th**** August 1998**** Ginny Weasley is 17**

**3. Ginny, Hermione and Fleur**

"Does this look okay?" Ginny was twisting and turning in front of the mirror in her bedroom, trying to see how she looked in her new dress.

"You look gorgeous," Hermione told her. She was sitting on her own bed, attempting to charm her party shoes into not rubbing her heels raw. "That deep red really suits you."

"D'you think so?" Ginny asked doubtfully. "Everyone always says redheads shouldn't wear red, but Fleur insisted I should have this one."

Hermione grinned. "Well, she's part Veela; I guess she knows about things like that. Is that your birthday present from her and Bill?"

"Yeah, though I think there's something else as well. Probably jewellery. Bill's always bought me jewellery for my birthdays since I was about five. I've got some fantastic Egyptian stuff he sent me when he was working there." Suddenly Ginny's face crumpled, the remembrance of other birthdays too much for her, and she sat down on her bed with a bump, tears pouring down her cheeks. "I don't think I can do this, Hermione," she wailed. "I can't go down there and let everyone give me presents and sing to me, and wish me a happy birthday, and pretend that it's all lovely when it isn't. I want Fred to be here too!" Her sobs intensified. "How can anyone pretend that that this is a normal birthday? _I_ can't!" And she broke into such a storm of sobs that she was soon gasping for breath. Hermione abandoned her seat on her own bed and sat beside her friend, wrapping her in her arms and trying her best to comfort her. But Ginny was not to be comforted. Pulling away from Hermione, she lay face down on her pillows, still sobbing. "Tell them I'm not coming down Hermione. I won't! I can't do it! I can't!"

Hermione regarded Ginny with concern. It was clear she was not going to listen to anything Hermione had to say. It was equally clear that she could not be allowed to sabotage the party before it even began. Frowning slightly, Hermione looked out of the window. George, Ron and Harry were arranging tables and chairs in the yard – or they were supposed to be: Hermione suspected that there was an awful lot of messing about going on too. None of them – not even Harry – would be any use here Hermione thought. Mrs. Weasley, of course, would rush to comfort her daughter if she knew how upset she was, but Hermione knew that that would only end up with her in tears too. Mr. Weasley was not home from work yet. Then inspiration struck. Bill and Fleur had arrived from Shell Cottage an hour or so earlier. If she could get Bill away from Fleur and Charlie and his mother and ask for his help without alerting the others, there might be some hope of sorting this out.

Hermione's luck was in. Descending to the kitchen, she found Bill and Fleur sorting out glasses and knives and forks. There was no sign of Mrs. Weasley or Charlie.

"Hi Hermione," said Bill, as she entered. "I hope you've come to be useful, or Mum'll be on your case."

"Where is she?" asked Hermione, not wanting Mrs. Weasley to walk in on her conversation with Bill.

"She went upstairs to get changed," said Bill, grimacing slightly. "Which, being translated, means she went to have a quiet weep in a corner before the party starts." Fleur shot her husband a sympathetic glance, but said nothing. "And Charlie's in the bath," continued Bill, "because Mum said no one who smelled of dragon dung was coming to a birthday party at her house." Hermione smiled, but Bill could see that she wasn't really amused. "What's up, Hermione?" he asked, laying a handful of cutlery down on the scrubbed table, and looking at her.

"It's … Bill, can you come and talk to Ginny? She's crying and crying, and she says she can't face the party and she won't come downstairs. She won't listen to anything _I_ say, but she might to you." Hermione was nearly in tears herself.

"O-kay," said Bill, frowning slightly. "You help Fleur with this lot then." He turned and left the kitchen, and Hermione heard him going up the stairs two at a time and banging on Ginny's bedroom door.

Hermione became aware that Fleur seemed angry. She was slamming plates and glasses about with such force that it was a miracle none of them broke, and Hermione heard her swear in French under her breath. Fleur looked up and caught Hermione's eyes on her. "You are doing eet too!" she muttered angrily. Hermione was completely floored by this statement.

"Doing what? Fleur, I'm sorry, but I have no idea what you're talking about."

Fleur snorted. "No of course you 'aven't. No one 'ere 'as!" Hermione stared at her wide-eyed, her mouth open.

"Fleur, what on earth …?"

"Zis family," said Fleur angrily, obviously deciding that as she had said so much she had better continue. "Zis family – _every_ time zere is a probleme zey come running to Bill to sort eet out. _Every time!_ Do you know we 'ave spent more time 'ere at Ze Burrow zan at our own 'ouse since Fred died? Bill won't complain about eet of course. Zey are 'is family and 'e loves zem and 'e sinks zat since 'e ees ze oldest eet ees 'is _job_ to look after everyone else. But no one seems to remember zat Bill 'as lost 'is bruzzer too…"

She stopped, almost in tears, and Hermione realised with a jolt that she was right. She knew that it had been Bill who arranged Fred's funeral because his father could not bear to do it. It had been Bill who had persuaded his mother and George to the compromise about the wording on Fred's headstone when Mrs. Weasley had insisted it have his full name on, and George had been equally insistent that no one would know who the hell "Frederick Gideon Weasley" was, and that it should just say "Fred". It had been Bill who had accompanied George the first time he had gone back to the shop; Bill who checked on him there twice a day during his lunch hour and after work for the first fortnight he had been back there; Bill who had bullied him into eating and had made sure there were groceries in the flat's tiny kitchen. It was Bill whom Charlie had enlisted to help him persuade his parents not to object to him returning to Romania, and who Ron had got to support him about not going back to Hogwarts. And Hermione had seen for herself in the times she had stayed at The Burrow since Fred's death that the whole family seemed to look to Bill to take a lead, to sort out disputes, to comfort them in their sorrow for Fred. None of them seemed to notice that they were doing it, but Hermione saw in an instant that what Fleur said was true.

Fleur had sat down at the table, her head bowed. Her lovely hair had fallen forward over her face, and she was making no sound, but Hermione knew that she was crying. Hesitantly, she sat down beside her and put a hand on her shoulder. "Fleur, I'm so sorry," she whispered. "none of us realised…"

"No, zat ees ze trouble," choked Fleur, "No one realises, no one ees doing eet on purpose. But zey are not ze ones 'oo 'ear Bill crying for 'is bruzzer in ze night when no one knows. Zey sink 'e ees ze strong one, zat 'e is coping wiz zis, but I know 'e ees not, and I am scared for 'im 'Ermione."

Hermione put her arm around Fleur's shoulder and hugged her, completely at a loss about what to say or do. "I'm sorry Fleur. I wish I knew what to do to help."

Fleur choked, and scrubbed at her eyes fiercely with her handkerchief. "Come on," she said. "We 'ad better get zis finished before anyone comes back." She flicked her wand at the tray of glasses on the table as she spoke, so that it rose and floated out into the garden in front of her. Hermione followed with the cutlery, thinking hard.


	6. Ginny's birthday: Bill

**11****th**** August 1998**** Ginny Weasley is 17**

**4. Bill**

Bill leant against the wall outside his sister's room, his eyes closed. He had never felt less like going to a party in his life. It had taken him nearly half an hour to calm Ginny down and to persuade her that she could not boycott her own coming of age dinner, however hard she felt it was going to be. Luckily, the: "Fred wouldn't want you to be unhappy on your birthday" argument had worked on her. Bill had learnt rapidly over the last couple of months not to say anything like that to George or his mother. George was simply furious at the idea that anyone could pretend to know what Fred would want in a situation neither of the twins had ever imagined happening. And the last time Bill had tried it with his mother, she had burst into fresh tears and shouted: "Fred wouldn't want to be dead either, would he?"

Bill sighed. Tiptoeing round his family's feelings, remembering what to say or not to say to different people was getting harder. His head ached, and the scars on his face and arms were tingling unpleasantly in a way that was not quite pain, but that he knew from experience would be by the end of the evening. The last full moon had been a bad one. He and Fleur allowed everyone to believe that the effects of Greyback's attack on him had been minimal apart from the scars, but that was not true. Every full moon he was restless and ill, and the pain in his scars was sometimes almost unbearable. Last month's full moon had been the worst yet. Bill wondered if it was because of stress, or if this sort of thing just got worse as time went on. A few months ago he could have confided in Remus Lupin, asked for his opinion and advice, but Remus was gone now too of course.

Bill closed his eyes against the tears prickling at the back of them, pushing himself upright as he heard someone descending the stairs from the floor above. Fortunately, it was only Charlie – looking a lot more respectable than he had when he arrived an hour ago – not his mother. He stopped when he saw his brother. "Bill? Are you okay? You look kinda rough." Bill forced a smile. "I'm fine. Ginny just needed a bit of cheering up, is all. C'mon, we'd better make sure those kids have sorted out the tables and stuff before Mum comes down."

Surprisingly, everything seemed to be in order downstairs. The tables were laid, and George and Hermione were conjuring coloured balloons, streamers and lanterns into the trees around them. There were two loud pops as Mr. Weasley and Percy Apparated in the yard, finally released from the ridiculously long hours everyone at the Ministry was currently working. "Hello everyone," said Mr. Weasley, looking round at them all. "Where's Mum?" "Upstairs getting changed, I think," replied Bill. "So's Ginny." Arthur nodded, and went into the house, followed by Percy. Hermione raised her eyebrows at Bill, who nodded slightly. Hermione smiled. Thank goodness for Bill and his ability to sort things out.

Despite everything, Ginny's birthday dinner was a success. Mrs Weasley had surpassed herself with the meal, and all those around the table felt it would be perfectly fine if they didn't eat again for about a month.

Ginny flatly refused to believe that George had managed to buy her present without assistance from his mother, Fleur or Hermione, even after all three of them denied having anything to do with it. She kept pestering him to tell her who had helped him, but he refused to enlighten her, pretending to be hurt that she had no faith in his ability to buy presents on his own. Teasing Ginny had always been fun, George thought.

Finally, Mrs. Weasley went back into the house and emerged with Ginny's birthday cake floating in front of her. "Wow Mum!" said Percy, as she set it down on the table in front of her daughter, which about summed up everyone's feelings on the matter. "It's spectacular, Molly," said Arthur, giving her a hug as he watched the tiny figures zooming around the pitch. "But I think we might have to ban Ginny from cutting it. Destroying such a work of art shouldn't be allowed."

Ginny grinned at him as she picked up a knife. "If you think I'm not cutting my coming of age cake Dad, you've got another think coming," she declared, inserting the point of the knife into the exact centre of the cake pitch, sending the miniature players scattering to the edges.

Despite the enormous meal they had just eaten, everyone discovered that they did in fact have enough room left for a slice of the wonderful cake. Wine glasses were filled again, and a dispute arose between Bill and Ginny on one side and Charlie and Harry on the other about the relative merits of playing Chaser or Seeker in Quidditch. "How you can say Seeking is boring, Bill, is beyond me," laughed Charlie. "Have you forgotten Krum at the World Cup, or was that your double there, not you?" Bill laughed too. "Okay, I'll give you that Krum is an amazing player," he conceded. "But I'm saying that on the whole playing as Chaser is a lot more fun than being a Seeker. Pass the wine over, Fred."

There was an abrupt silence around the table as they all registered what Bill had just said. George stopped with his hand actually on the wine bottle – after spending most of his life answering to his twin's name nearly as often as to his own, doing so was almost automatic. Bill himself gasped when he realised what he had done. A small part of his brain thought that if someone else had made the mistake, he would have been the one to cover it up, even to make a joke of it: "See, George, we _still _can't tell you apart even now". But he found he was completely unable to do that now.

Even as George was stuttering: "Bill, it's okay mate, it doesn't matter," he was standing up, knocking his chair over backwards and moving away from the table, aware of nothing but the feeling that he could not deal with this any more, that he needed to get away _now_. By the time he reached the end of the garden and the beginning of the orchard, he was running. He was conscious of the others calling his name, and of Charlie and Ron running after him, but he took no notice. He simply could not handle being with his family right now.

He knew they would not catch him. His legs were longer than Charlie's, and he had always been able to outrun him, and he had a head start on Ron, who had been on the other side of the table from him. Reaching the broom shed, he grabbed the first broomstick his hand touched, pulling out his wand and muttering: "Transfixio totalum" over the others so that no one would be able to follow him on them. Back outside, he kicked off hard from the ground just seconds before Charlie and Ron reached him, calling out to him and imploring him to stop. Ignoring them, he soared as high as he could, and away.


	7. Ginny's birthday: Night

**11****th**** August 1998**** Ginny Weasley is 17**

**5.Night**

"Damn!" yelled Charlie, wrenching open the shed door, seizing a couple of brooms, and throwing one to Ron. But when they tried to take off after Bill, they discovered they couldn't. "He's jinxed them," exclaimed Charlie. "He doesn't want anyone going after him. You'd better get Dad. Bill's a curse-breaker – I don't think you or I have a hope of breaking one of his jinxes, though I'll try."

As quickly as he could, Ron made his way back to the yard, which was in chaos. Fleur was sobbing in Hermione's arms. Mrs. Weasley and Ginny were both in tears too, and George didn't look far off it. "Well?" demanded Mr. Weasley, as Ron re-entered the yard, panting for breath.

"He's gone, Dad," gasped Ron. "Taken a broom and flown. We tried to follow him, but he'd jinxed the other brooms so we couldn't. Charlie's trying to un-jinx them, but he reckons he'll need your help." His father nodded, and set off at once for the far end of the orchard and the broom shed.

"I knew somesing like zis would 'appen," wailed Fleur. "I said to 'Ermione zis evening zat everyone relied on Bill too much and it was too much for 'im." She began sobbing again, and Mrs. Weasley took her in her arms, pushing Hermione gently out of the way.

"There, there, dear. Don't cry," she murmured, wiping her own tears with the back of her hand and smoothing her daughter-in-law's hair as she sobbed against her shoulder. "He won't have gone far, we'll find him, he'll be alright."

"Which way did he go, Ron?" asked Percy, looking at his youngest brother, who had collapsed into a chair.

"Didn't see," said Ron. "To be honest, I don't think _he _knew where he was going himself. I think he just wanted to get away."

"I'm going to make some coffee," said Hermione. "We can't do anything else till those brooms are usable again anyway. Come and help me, Harry."

By the time Arthur and Charlie returned, each carrying an armful of now functional broomsticks, the others were seated around the table drinking coffee, and even Fleur was reasonably composed.

"We need to split up and check the obvious places," said Mr. Weasley, accepting a cup of coffee from Hermione. "Fleur, you should go to Shell Cottage in case Bill's there. I don't think it's that likely, but it's worth a try. If he isn't there, you can leave a message for him in case he turns up later and then come back here. Someone needs to stay here too in case he comes back. And the rest of us can take brooms and see if we can spot him anywhere. I really don't think he can have gone that far …"

The others nodded. All of them were still feeling stunned by the abrupt break-up of the party. None of his siblings could quite believe that Bill had reacted like this to a simple mistake – one that it was inevitable that somebody was going to make sooner or later. Bill was the strong one, the big brother who sorted things out for them, not someone who ran out on situations that were too much for him. Bill's parents, however, were beginning to realise just how much pressure the family had unconsciously been putting on Bill since Fred's death, and both were feeling that they should have seen this coming and done something to prevent it.

As soon as the coffee was finished, they split up. Fleur, with Hermione for company, Disapparated to Shell Cottage. Molly and Arthur began clearing up the debris of the party – since someone had to stay at The Burrow, they might as well do something useful. The others took broomsticks – Charlie, Ron, Ginny and Harry heading out over the hills behind the house, while Percy and George made for the village. They flew as low as they dared, hoping for a sight of Bill somewhere, landing frequently to check the area more thoroughly.

It was the early hours of the morning before they all returned to The Burrow. Fleur and Hermione had found no sign of Bill at Shell Cottage, in the garden or on the surrounding cliff tops. Fleur had left Bill a note telling him they were worried about him, and would he please let them know he was okay, prominently displayed on the kitchen mantelpiece, but neither she nor Hermione thought it at all likely that Bill would turn up there to read it. The others had been equally unsuccessful. The only evidence any of them had found was a new wreath on Fred's grave which George had found, and which he knew had not been there earlier in the evening. But of Bill himself there was no sign.

Arthur looked round at his family gathered in the kitchen. Bill's hand on Mrs. Weasley's famous clock pointed to "Lost" which Arthur thought wryly wasn't terribly helpful as they knew that already. "We all need to get some sleep," he said. "We can start looking again in the morning, but there's nothing more we can do tonight. Chances are, Bill might be back by breakfast time. Things always look better by daylight." Even Fleur had to accept that he was right, and they trailed upstairs to bed.


	8. Ginny's birthday: Bill and George

This is (finally) the end of Ginny's birthday. No one else's is going to go on so long, except maybe George and Fred's if I ever get that far. 

Might be a day or two before the next chapter as I'm a bit bogged down with Percy's birthday...

(Minor changes for date.)

**11****th**** August 1998**** Ginny Weasley is 17**

**6. Bill and George**

When he took off, Bill had no idea where he was going. All he knew was that he needed to get away, to be by himself. For a few minutes, he flew blindly, remaining on the broomstick through sheer instinct and long habit. His headache had returned with a vengeance, and the pain of his scars was bad, but the feeling inside him of cold emptiness was much, much worse. Dully he wondered whether his father had managed to get the other broomsticks working again, and whether anyone would try to follow him. He really didn't want to be found. Not yet.

He should decide where he was going, but his brain didn't seem to be working properly. He realised that he had flown right over the village, and without thinking about why he circled back, landing in the churchyard. Fred's grave was in the corner, near those of his Weasley and Prewett relatives, the new headstone standing out starkly in contrast to the more weathered ones around it. Bill put a hand on the cold stone, tears pouring down his face. "Oh, Fred," he whispered. "Fred." Pulling out his wand again, he conjured a wreath of poppies and sweet Williams and laid it on the grave, before remounting his broom and taking off again.

He flew back over The Burrow towards the hills beyond. There was a cave he and Charlie had discovered as children…. The cave was achingly familiar, but smaller than he remembered. Utterly exhausted, he crawled inside, lay down on the cave floor and slept.

George was the first person in The Burrow to wake the next morning. He had discovered over the last three months that the first few minutes of the day were some of the worst. Every morning – _every bloody morning_ – he woke forgetting that Fred was dead, and every morning the realisation hit him like a fresh bereavement. This morning, as he closed his eyes and choked back the tears, he remembered that there was something else wrong too. Of course – Bill was missing. Bill – the strong capable older brother – had run out on them. Then George heard Fred's voice in his head – or maybe it was his subconscious, but it _sounded_ like Fred – "The cave you idiot, look in the cave."

George sat up abruptly. Bill and Charlie had thought that no one knew where they disappeared to, but the twins had followed them on more than one occasion, keeping their distance so that their older brothers would not know their secret was discovered. George scrambled out of bed and pulled on some clothes. It was still very early. In the kitchen, he reheated some coffee left over from the previous evening and poured it into a flask. He shoved the flask, a couple of cups and a large bar of chocolate stolen from the pantry into a bag. Hastily, he scribbled a note and left it in the middle of the kitchen table: _"Had an idea. Back soon I hope. G." _He had no thought of waking anyone else. He was doing this on his own. In the yard, he picked up one of the discarded brooms, slung the bag onto his back and took off.

Circling over the hills, he tried desperately to remember the location of Bill and Charlie's hideout. Twice he landed and looked around, but failed to find it. Then Fred's voice – or his subconscious, did it really matter which? – spoke in his head again. "Behind the next hill, by the little wood." Flying on, George spotted the clump of trees – and the entrance to the cave with a broomstick lying beside it.

He landed, throwing his own broom down next to Bill's, and crawled inside. Bill was there, lying on the floor, asleep. In the pale light of the early morning, George could see the dark shadows under his brother's eyes and the marks of tears on his cheeks. George sat with his back to the cave wall, and waited. After a few minutes, Bill stirred and groaned, opening his eyes and gasping in astonishment when he saw George sitting beside him.

"George? How the hell did you get here? How did you know?"

"I'm clairvoyant, didn't I ever tell you?" replied George, with a smile, reaching out a hand to grip his brother's. "We were worried about you, mate. Fleur practically had hysterics."

Bill closed his eyes and groaned again, fresh tears running down his face. "Oh God. I didn't mean to upset everyone." He began to cry in earnest, and George pulled him into his arms.

"It's okay, Bill, it's okay. No one's angry. It's okay."

Bill clung to his brother, feeling that this was the wrong way round somehow, that it should be him comforting George. Gradually he got his sobs under control. "George," he managed to choke out. "Last night. I called you Fred. I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I didn't mean… I can't believe I said it." He stopped, swallowing hard.

"Hush, it's okay. It was a mistake. Someone was bound to do it sooner or later," murmured George, pulling his brother close again. "You could have timed it better though. It wasn't the best end to a birthday party anyone's ever come up with." Despite himself, Bill felt himself smiling. Even now, George still had his ability to make a joke about practically _anything_.

George released Bill and rummaged in his bag. "Here look, I've even brought breakfast," he said, pouring two cups of the steaming coffee and handing one to Bill, together with a large chunk of chocolate. "Then I think we really need to go home."

The rest of the family were sitting round the kitchen table, drinking tea and wondering what George's idea was and where he had gone. His hand on Mrs. Weasley's clock had moved from "Travelling" to the deeply unhelpful "Out". Then Fleur cried out as Bill's hand clicked round from "Lost" to "Found". A little later, and both hands moved to "Travelling", and then to "Home" as the family heard the unmistakeable sound of two broomsticks landing in the yard.


	9. Percy's birthday

Sorry for the delay, but I had real writer's block for this one. I'm still not entirely happy with it, but I like the end...

**22****nd**** August 1998**** Percy Weasley is 22**

_Dear Bill, George and I are taking Percy out for a drink for his birthday. Mum says it's okay if I ask you too as long as I tell you that you don't have to play the older brother and look after us! Strictly boys only, so you have to leave Fleur at home. Let me know if you're coming. Ron._

Percy still wasn't sure if this was a good idea, though it was better than the alternative, which was a family dinner at The Burrow. He didn't think any of them were ready for that after Ginny's coming of age meal less than a fortnight ago.

He knew that his family were making every effort to make him feel included again, and that they had forgiven him unconditionally for his stupidity over the last few years. It was a shame that it wasn't so easy for him to forgive himself. And he couldn't help feeling that George – and maybe the others too for all he knew – wished it had been him who had died, not Fred. And there were days – a lot of them, actually – when he thought how much easier it would have been if it had been him. How unfair was it that he had lived and Fred hadn't? And how unfair was it that he had lost Fred just when he got his family back? He relived the moment of Fred's death over and over again in his dreams. And every time he woke feeling that there must have been something – something – that he could have done to prevent it…

Seeing George was the hardest bit. Percy was glad that George was spending so much of his time at the flat over the shop rather than at The Burrow, so he didn't have to see him every day. It wasn't just being confronted with the reality of George's grief for his twin, seeing the hurt lost look in his eyes, though that was bad enough. It was literally seeing him. Seeing one face where there should have been an identical one beside it or behind it; seeing George and looking round for Fred and realising why he wasn't there; seeing one twin and just one which seemed like a contradiction in terms. Percy had noticed how George avoided looking in mirrors these days, and he couldn't blame him. The mere fact of George's face hurt.

Still, here Percy was in Viggo's Bar in Diagon Alley with Ron and George. Bill was supposed to be coming too, but hadn't arrived yet. Percy wished he would hurry up. There was still a definite awkwardness between him and the other two that Bill's presence might ease a bit.

"So, how's the Ministry, Perce?" asked Ron. Percy wondered if he was really interested, or if he was just making conversation, but he went along with it.

"Busy. Chaotic actually. You wouldn't believe how many laws have to be undone and new ones made. Or maybe you would since you and Harry and Hermione were in there last year and saw some of what was going on."

"I can imagine," said Ron. "Thank God for Kingsley, but I wouldn't want to be in his shoes."

"Nor me," agreed Percy. "How's the joke shop? Is Ron behaving himself, George?"

George smiled: "Most of the time, but he's a lazy git. Keeps playing with the merchandise when he should be packaging orders." Ron tried – and failed – to look innocent.

"Look, here's Bill," exclaimed George, waving to their brother , who was near the bar and looking around for them.

"Hi," he said as he joined them. "Sorry I'm late, but work was frantic. If certain people hadn't managed to break into Gringott's last year, they might give us a break now and again…" Ron again failed in his attempt to look innocent. "Happy birthday, Percy," continued Bill. "Are you all ready for another drink?"

"Yeah, but it's my round," replied Ron. "You can pay for the next one."

Bill's presence definitely eased the atmosphere between Percy and the other two. As the evening wore on, Percy began to feel more a real part of the family again than he had at any time since the battle and Fred's death. He had wondered sometimes whether the others almost resented him mourning for Fred; whether they felt that he had given up that right by disowning the rest of them for so long. But the attitude of his brothers as they dived into a series of "Do you remembers?" from their childhoods, made it clear that they did not think that way about him at all. Percy recalled his last three birthdays, spent by himself in his lonely bed-sit, and realised anew just how much he had missed them all, even if they drove him crazy at times.

He had never really realised before the rift with his family just how much they mattered to him. He had always been a loner within the family, coming as he did between Bill and Charlie, who were very close, and the twins who were inseparable. He had always been one on his own, and although he knew it worried his mother, he himself had never really minded. He had not felt that he didn't belong, but he had had the subconscious feeling that he could get along without the rest of the family if he had to. It had taken the years of separation for him to learn that he couldn't. And just when he found that out, Fred was gone …

"Hey, Percy, are you still with us?" Ron's voice roused him from his thoughts.

"Oh, yeah, sorry, I was miles away," he replied, blinking round at his brothers.

"We're going back to the shop for a coffee," continued Ron. "Are you coming?"

The four of them walked back along Diagon Alley to Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. Percy looked around with interest as he followed George through the door. He had never been in here before. George saw him looking and lit the lamps with his wand. "D'you want the guided tour, Perce?" he asked, with a grin.

Bill and Ron left them to it and went upstairs to the flat to make coffee. When they came back down to the shop, each carrying two steaming mugs, they found Percy and George sitting on the floor earnestly discussing how to create an antidote for Choking Chocolate, a new line for the Skiving Snackboxes range, which Fred had invented before his death, but failed to perfect. The sight of Percy – Percy of all people! – discussing such a thing instead of reacting with total disapproval was so unlikely that Bill nearly dropped the cups he was carrying, and Ron muttered to him: "Pinch me, I think I'm dreaming."

Percy turned, and saw them both standing there with their mouths open, staring at him and George. "What?" he demanded. "What are you two gaping at?"

"You!" said Ron, laughing. "Good little Prefect Percy talking about Skiving Snackboxes. Whatever would Mum say?"

Percy laughed too. "Don't tell her," he implored. "I don't want to ruin her image of me. At least Fred would approve."

For once, George did not object to someone saying what Fred would think. On this occasion, he knew that Percy was right.


	10. Hermione's birthday

This is a lot longer than I expected it to be. Pretty angsty too, I'm afraid...

(Couple of minor changes here to correct date of the battle...)

**19****th**** September 1998**** Hermione Granger is 19**

"I can't believe she expects me to go," Ron grumbled.

"Go where?" asked George, trying hard to concentrate on what his brother was saying, rather than on the image of Fred lying dead which was at the front of his brain this morning for some reason.

"I knew you weren't listening," snapped Ron. Then he looked at his brother's face and his tone softened. "Are you okay, George?"

George forced a half-smile. "Yeah, I'm fine. Why shouldn't I be? What were you saying?"

"Hermione wants me to go out with her and her parents tonight for her birthday. To a _Muggle_ restaurant!"

He looked so horrified at the prospect, that George chuckled despite himself. "What's so awful about that? Muggles have to eat as well, you know."

"Yeah, but … What if I do something stupid?"

"Well, being you, you very well might," agreed George. "But it's not as if Hermione's parents don't know she's a witch is it?"

"No, I guess not …" Ron still did not sound convinced.

"Are Hogwarts letting Hermione out for the evening then?" enquired George. "_That _wouldn't have happened in our day. We might have got out, but it wouldn't have been with permission."

Ron grinned. "Perhaps McGonagall's getting soft in her old age. I think they reckon people like her and Harry and Dean are there voluntarily to re-do their last year, so they have to be a bit lenient with them. Hermione wanted Harry and Ginny to come too, but they wouldn't let Ginny out because she _is_ still proper school age. And Harry said he wasn't coming without her. Stupid git – I could have done with his support."

"You'll be fine," George reassured him. "Just remember not to do magic. After all, there are worse things in life than being taken out for a nice meal by your girlfriend's parents" There was a definite note of bitterness in his voice, and Ron shot him a quick look. George was clearly _not_ alright, whatever he might say to the contrary.

He decided to change the subject. "Did you get the books to balance in the end?" he asked. George shook his head. He had spent most of the previous evening wrestling with columns of figures, but could not make them come out right however hard he tried. It had never been this difficult when Fred was alive and they did the shop's books together. But nothing had seemed very hard then, and now everything did.

"I got a different result every time I tried," he admitted. "And I went through the bloody things about six times. And none of the versions actually balanced. Do you think asking Bill to look at them would come under the heading of 'hassling Bill' in Mum's eyes?"

"Dunno," replied Ron. "You could ask Percy."

"Yeah, but Percy would make me feel like an idiot for not getting it right first time," objected his brother. "Bill wouldn't."

"That's true," Ron agreed with a grin. "Ask Bill. After all, it's over a month since he went off like that at Ginny's birthday. If none of us hassle him ever again he's going to think we don't love him any more."

George smiled briefly at that, and then sighed. A month since Ginny's birthday – it seemed like several lifetimes ago to him. And four months since Fred had died. A third of a year since he'd seen his twin alive. Four months as just George rather than half of Fred-and-George. He didn't know how he'd survived it. He didn't know how he was going to continue to survive it …

Suddenly, staying in the shop seemed an impossibility. Swallowing tears, he turned to Ron. "Will you and Lee be okay if I go out for a bit?" he asked.

"Yeah, sure," answered Ron, concern evident in his voice. "Are you really okay, George?"

"I'll be fine," George lied. "I just need to get out for a bit."

"Okay then," said Ron doubtfully. "But don't do anything stupid, will you?"

"Me? Of course not," his brother replied, in an artificially bright tone of voice, pulling off his magenta staff robes and dumping them in a heap under the counter. "I'll be back later." He left the shop quickly. Ron watched him go with a frown.

It was well into the afternoon by the time George returned. He was white-faced and his eyes were red, but he rejected Ron's expressions of sympathy with a brusque: "I'm fine. Stop fussing, Ron." Lee got a similar result when he tried to talk to him.

Ron wished he had not got to go out that night. It seemed like a very bad day to leave George on his own. He knew Lee would not be able to stick around either as he had a date that evening, although he had been curiously evasive about who it was with. Ron had his suspicions, but had decided not to pursue them. And he devoutly hoped that George hadn't jumped to the same conclusion that he had. Angelina might never have been officially Fred's girlfriend, but most people who knew them had assumed that they would end up together. If Angelina was now dating Fred and George's best friend, Ron was pretty sure that George would not take it well.

Briefly, Ron wondered about telling Hermione that he could not come tonight. She'd probably not talk to him for about a month of course … And George would want to know why he wasn't going, and would insist he was okay and didn't need a babysitter. Ron sighed. He really didn't see any alternative to leaving George alone. He decided as a last resort to suggest that George should go to The Burrow for the night, but George would have none of it. "Do stop worrying Ron," he snapped. "I'm perfectly alright. I'm going to have another go at those books, and if the bloody things still won't balance, I'll owl Bill tomorrow."

Ron frowned to himself as he went upstairs to get changed. One of the most horrible things about losing Fred, he decided, was not just mourning him yourself, but having to worry about everyone else mourning him. Particularly George.

He tried to put his worries about his brother out of his mind as he Disapparated to just outside the Hogwarts grounds. He walked up the long drive, into the Castle and up towards Gryffindor Tower remembering the last time he had been there – the night of the battle and of Fred's death. Harry and Ginny were waiting for him by the Fat Lady. He hadn't realised just how much he'd missed seeing them every day. He gave Ginny a hug, and followed the two of them through the portrait hole and into the familiar common room.

"Where's Hermione?" he asked, sinking into one of the armchairs by the fire.

"Getting changed," said his sister. "I'll go and hurry her up." And she disappeared through the doorway to the girls' dormitories.

"So what's it like being back at school?" Ron asked Harry curiously.

"Weird," replied Harry. "It just seems so ridiculously normal after last year. But it's different too. No you to annoy me for a start … How's the shop?"

"Oh, the shop's okay," said Ron, his thoughts going back to George again. "George isn't though. He disappeared for hours earlier today and when he came back he looked pretty upset. I really didn't want to leave him on his own this evening, but he told me I was fussing when I suggested he go back to The Burrow for the night. I hope he'll be okay…"

They were interrupted by the reappearance of Ginny, with Hermione behind her. Hermione ran forward and hugged Ron. "It's so good to see you," she smiled.

"You too, birthday girl," he grinned back at her. "C'mon, we'd better get going or we'll be late." Waving to Harry and Ginny, Ron and Hermione left the common room, and made their way out of the Castle and out of the grounds. Once outside, they Disapparated to a convenient clump of trees in a park just around the corner from Hermione's childhood home.

Despite Ron's fears, they had a very good evening. Mr. and Mrs. Granger had more or less come to terms with the reality of their only daughter being a witch, and although they would probably have preferred it if she'd fallen for a dentist like themselves, or an accountant, or a lawyer, or anyone normal really, they were resigned to the fact that as a witch she was likely to end up with a wizard, and so were quite willing to accept Ron as her boyfriend. The meal passed without incident, and Ron and Hermione parted from her parents outside a Tube station. They had planned to go back to Grimmauld Place for the night, and get up early the next morning so that Hermione could make it back to Hogwarts for the start of morning lessons, but Hermione could tell that Ron was not happy.

"Are you still worrying about George?" she asked, and Ron wondered – not for the first time – whether she actually could read his mind.

"Well, yeah," he admitted. "I'm sorry, Hermione. I don't want to spoil your birthday."

"Don't be silly. George is more important than my birthday," she replied. "We'll go and check on him. He'll probably be fine, and you can just say you forgot something. If not …" She let the sentence hang.

Ron's face relaxed, and he smiled. "Thanks 'Mione."

They Disapparated to the Leaky Cauldron and walked through the back into Diagon Alley. There were no lights on in the shop, but they could see some in the flat above. Ron began to think he was probably worrying about nothing. They let themselves in quietly, not lighting the lamps.

"You go up," whispered Hermione. "Then if George is okay, you can just say you left something behind." Ron nodded, and headed upstairs. Hermione sat down on a chair behind the counter and waited.

"Hermione!" There was a distinct note of panic in Ron's voice, and she ran upstairs as quickly as she could. Ron was in the living room, bending over George who lay curled on the floor. He was making no sound, but was shaking all over. His eyes were wide and unfocused and there was blood on his hands. The accounts books lay open and forgotten on the table behind him.

What's he done?" gasped Hermione, fear in her voice, as she too bent over George.

"I don't know." Ron's voice was shaking. "I can't see where all that blood's coming from." He knelt beside his brother and shook him gently. "George! Georgie! Talk to me. George!"

A shudder went through George's body and he gasped. Slowly his eyes slid back into focus and fixed on Ron. He began to sob, every sob shaking him from head to foot. "I want – I want – Fred," he gasped out. "I can't – do this – any more. I want – Fred." Ron's face was horrified as he pulled George into his arms. His eyes met Hermione's over the top of George's head, and she stood up.

"I'm going to fetch your Mum and Dad," she said decidedly. "This is beyond us." There was a loud crack as she Disapparated.

Left alone with George, Ron continued to hold him and murmur words of comfort to him. But it seemed that George was barely aware of his presence. He continued to sob, gasping out Fred's name over and over again. There was a series of pops from downstairs and then the sound of feet on the stairs. Molly Weasley hurried into the room, closely followed by Arthur, Percy and Hermione. She dropped to the floor beside her sons, and pulled George from Ron's arms into her own. Arthur knelt too, and took one of George's hands. The knuckles and palms were criss-crossed with tiny cuts, which were still bleeding.

"Oh George," he choked. "What have you done?"

Percy had left the room, but now he reappeared. "It's the mirror," he said. "The one in the bathroom. He's smashed it."

George choked, and gasped out: "I went in there and the light wasn't on. My reflection – I thought – I thought it was – Fred." He began to sob again, harder than ever, choking out words between the sobs. "I – just – want – Fred. All – the – time. Fred. I – want – to be – dead – too. Fred."

"Oh George." Arthur's voice cracked, and tears rolled down his face. Losing one son was hard enough, but seeing another one suffer so much was almost worse. Percy was crying too, so were Ron and Hermione, standing to one side with their arms round each other.

Molly was not crying. She had shed tears for Fred every day since he died, and would continue to do so, perhaps for the rest of her life. But now she knew she had to be strong for George, for the twin she did have left. "Oh George," she whispered. "My poor boy, my poor, poor boy. Oh Georgie." She rocked him in her arms as she had with all her children when they were small and had hurt themselves, knowing that this time even a mother's love could not heal the hurt. "Come on Georgie, we're going to take you home," she said. "You three…" She looked at Percy, Ron and Hermione.

"We'll tidy up here," said Ron, swallowing his tears and trying to keep his voice steady. "Then we'll come too." Molly nodded, and she and Arthur stood up, pulling George upright between them. There was a loud crack as they Disapparated.

Left alone, Percy, Ron and Hermione did what they could to deal with the mess in the flat. Percy sorted the accounts books into a tidy pile, noting with a frown that George had obviously been struggling with them. Hermione repaired the broken mirror, while Ron cleared up the mess of glass and blood on the floor. Once things were in order again, the three of them Disapparated to The Burrow.

In the kitchen, Molly and Arthur were sitting at the table, a bottle of Firewhisky and two glasses in front of them. Molly was crying now, but Arthur was dry-eyed. They looked up as the others came in.

"Where's George?" asked Percy at once.

"He's asleep," replied his father with a sigh. "Your mother gave him a potion for dreamless sleep. I hope it will help … We put him in your room, Percy. He wouldn't go into his and – and F-Fred's, and he said he didn't want to be on his own." Percy nodded.

Molly looked round at them helplessly. "He's going to be here for a while I think," she sighed. "He's in no state to do anything. I don't know what's going to happen about the shop."

Ron stepped forward and put his arm round her. "Oh Mum," he said hoarsely. "You know you don't need to worry about that. Lee and I can handle the shop. You concentrate on looking after George." Molly returned his hug. She knew that they would get through this somehow. That they would get George through it – somehow, however hard it was. They had to. For Fred.


	11. Fleur's birthday: I

Okay, Fleur's birthday is going to run to two chapters because it's turned out really long, and I doubt if I'm going to finish typing it all up today. If you don't like the shorter chapters, then hold off reading until I post the second half.

Fleur speaks French a bit in this, because I think it's a bit tough on the poor girl that she has to talk English all the time, even when she's upset. However, though her French is obviously excellent, mine isn't, so forgive any mistakes.

The mention of Bill being injured in the battle refers to my other piece "Bill's story".

And I hope Molly isn't acting too out of character here. I think that the fact that she's very shocked by what Bill shows/tells her when she's already worried sick about George explains her behaviour.

**27****th**** September 1998**** Fleur Delacour Weasley is 22**

**I**

Bill sat on the bed staring at the object he had just found at the bottom of his wife's jewellery box. He had been looking for a particular pair of earrings he knew Fleur loved because he was planning to buy her a matching necklace for her birthday tomorrow and wanted to make sure he got the colours right. But under the jumble of necklaces, earrings and bracelets in the box – Fleur was not the tidiest of people – he had found – this. And he really did not know what to do about it. The easiest thing, of course, would be to put it back in the box and pretend he'd never seen it. The easiest thing, maybe, but not the right thing. And Bill didn't think he could pretend for long anyway. Not now he knew it was there. He sighed. He would have to talk to Fleur about this before speaking to his mother, but he knew he would have to tell his mother sooner or later. And he had a feeling that that would not be an easy conversation.

He was so engrossed in his thoughts that he did not hear Fleur enter the room. She gasped when she saw what Bill was holding. "Merde! Bill, I …" she stopped, biting her lip, and Bill stood up and put his arms round her. "Hey, it's okay," he reassured her. "But explain please, I don't understand. Where on earth did you get this?" He pulled Fleur down onto the bed with him, and they both looked at what he was holding. It was a piece of twisted metal that had once been the hand of a clock. The name "Fred" could still be made out running along the length of it.

"Where did you get this?" Bill repeated. Fleur buried her face in his shoulder, and he put his arms round her as she began to cry. "Hush, love, hush. Tell me, please. I'm not angry, I just want to know," he murmured.

Fleur swallowed. "C'était après la bataille, quand nous sommes rentrés au Burrow. Je l'ai trouvée par terre sous l'horloge. J'ai pensé que…"

Bill smiled despite himself and tightened his hold on Fleur. She always forgot when she was upset that his French was nowhere near as good as her English. "Fleur, please speak English," he whispered. "I'll never understand what happened if I have to translate."

Fleur swallowed again, but did not seem to be able to marshal her thoughts into English immediately. Bill continued to hold her, and finally she started to speak, in English this time. "After-after ze bataille when we are gone 'ome to Ze Burrow," she said, her French accent stronger than usual, a sure sign that she was overwrought, "I-I found ze 'and on ze floor under ze clock. I – no one else 'as noteeced. Everyone was zo un'appy about F-Fred bien sûr, and I-I zhust sought eet would be one more sing to make everyone cry. I put eet in my pocket, and I did not say anysing. I would 'ave told you, but you were 'urt, and I deed not want to worry you more. And zen, zo no one said anysing about eet, everyone zhust seemed to assume zat Fred's 'and a disparu, and it was plus facile to let you all sink zat. And when we are come back 'ere, I deed not know what to do wiz eet. I could not srow eet away, but I did not want you to find eet. So I 'id it where I sought you would not look."

She began to cry again then, and Bill hastened to reassure her. "Hush, hush love. It's okay. I understand. Don't cry, Fleur, please."

Though he did not want to, he was remembering that horrible first day back at The Burrow without Fred. All of them had seemed stunned, not knowing quite what to do. There had been an awful lot of tears, and the smallest thing was likely to start someone crying again. Bill could not blame Fleur at all for hiding Fred's clock hand. It would have made things even worse than they already were if everyone had seen it broken and twisted on the floor. But now …

"Fleur," he said, "I think – I think we really have to tell Mum and Dad. It's Mum's clock, after all."

Fleur scrubbed her eyes furiously with the back of her hand and nodded. "Tu as raison, bien sûr," she whispered. "Mais ta mère, she will be ver' angree wiz me I sink." Bill hugged her again, but did not reply. He wished he could honestly tell her that his mother would not be angry, but if the truth be told, he had no idea how she would react to this.

"I said I'd pop in tonight after work to see how George is," he reminded her. "I'll tell Mum then. I'd better take it with me I guess." He looked at his wife, a worried frown on his face. "I have to get to work or I'll be late, but I don't like to leave you so upset."

Fleur forced herself to smile. "Don't be silly. I am okay now. You go to work and do not worry about me."

But left to herself once Bill was gone, she sank into a chair and buried her face in her hands. She had thought she had done the right thing at the time; it had seemed the only thing she could do under the circumstances, but she was very afraid that her mother-in-law would not see it like that. Fleur was only too well aware that Molly Weasley had not exactly been enthusiastic about her marriage to Bill at first. Now it seemed that the goodwill that had developed between the two women since Bill's mauling by Greyback might be at risk.

That evening, Bill Apparated in the familiar yard outside The Burrow and knocked cursorily at the back door before pushing it open and going into the kitchen. His mother was standing at the sink watching a pair of knives peel and chop potatoes and carrots. She turned at the sound of his entrance, and smiled. "Bill!" she exclaimed, coming over to him and kissing him. "It's good to see you."

"You too, Mum," he replied, giving her a hug. "You look worn out. How's George?"

His mother bit her lip and sighed. "Not good. He's barely speaking. None of us seem to be able to get through to him. He's gone to the graveyard again. I don't like him spending so much time there, I really don't but …" She wiped tears from her eyes with the edge of her apron. "Dad went after him to get him to come back for tea. Not that he'll eat anything … I assume you're not staying?"

Bill shook his head, wondering if this was the right time to talk to his mother about the clock hand since she was upset already. But he really wanted to get it over with, and no time seemed to be very good lately, so he decided to go ahead. "I need to get back. But I have to talk to you about something first, Mum." Molly looked at him sharply, but his blue eyes were so serious that she knew her instinctive impulsive hope that he was going to tell her that he and Fleur were going to make her a grandmother was wrong.

"Come and sit down, Mum," urged Bill, leading her over to the table, and sitting down beside her. He pulled a small package from his pocket, and looked at her slightly warily. "Fleur found this on the floor, the morning after Fred died," he said, unwrapping the broken clock hand and putting it in front of her. "She hid it because she thought it would upset everyone to see it then. And when no one said anything about it having gone, she thought it was best to leave things like that."

Molly gasped, touching the twisted metal gently, almost as though she thought it might burn her. "Oh," she sighed. "Oh. I thought – I thought it'd just disappeared."

"I know," said Bill. "I think everyone thought that."

"And all the time Fleur had it?" Molly's voice was rising alarmingly, and Bill saw a spark of anger in her eyes. "And you knew?"

"No, I didn't know." Bill fought to keep his voice steady, not to let this escalate into a row. "I only found out this morning. Mum – she only did it so as not to hurt anyone more. She thought it was the best thing to do."

But his mother was not to be placated. All the pain of the last couple of weeks came to the surface as she looked at her eldest son. Even as she began to shout at him, she knew that taking it out on Bill was unjust, but she did not seem able to stop herself. "Oh, she did, did she?" she cried. "And what _right _does Fleur have to decide what will or will not upset us? What right has she to take something that belongs to me? None at all! None!"

Bill was on his feet now, struggling to keep his own anger under control. "Mum, that's not fair!"

"Isn't it? Isn't it?" she shot back at him. "Your wife steals something that belongs to me, and you say it's not fair that I complain about it? If one of the family had taken it, I would have understood, but Fleur – Fleur had no right at all!"

They were so absorbed in their argument, that neither of them noticed the door from the hall opening and Percy coming into the kitchen.

"Mum, Bill! What on earth?" he asked, looking in astonishment from his mother to his oldest brother. His mother shouted a lot – everyone knew that – but for Bill to do so was rare. But Molly and Bill ignored him, both too angry to be aware of anything except their ongoing disagreement.

Bill was white-faced, his eyes hard as he looked at his mother. Percy had never seen him look so furious. "You would have understood it if _one of the family_ had taken it?" Bill repeated, his voice hoarse. "Mum, Fleur's _my wife_. She _is_ one of the family. Whether you like it or not. If you can't accept that …" He turned abruptly and walked out, slamming the back door behind him. Molly and Percy heard a loud crack as he Disapparated in the yard.

Molly collapsed sobbing into her chair, clutching Fred's clock hand. Percy hurried forwards and put his arms round her. "Mum, don't cry, don't. What the heck was that all about?" His mother was crying too much to speak, but she opened her hand, and Percy saw the broken piece of metal she was holding, Fred's name twisted but still legible on it.

"Bloody hell, Mum," he breathed. "Where did that come from?"

"Fleur had it," Molly choked. "All this time and I thought it was just – gone – and she had it. How could she? How could she?" She began to cry again, and Percy hugged her. He had no idea what to say.

Fleur was watching out for Bill's return, which meant that he had no chance to get his emotions under control before he saw her. One look at his face told her that the conversation with his mother had not gone well. She ran to him and hugged him. "She was angry?" she asked shakily. Bill nodded, too furious to speak at the moment. Fleur drew back from him and looked into his face. "Bill what – what did she say?"

He sighed and pulled her close again. "She said you had no right to take it, no right to decide if it would upset her or not. She said – other things – too. I walked out on her."

"Oh no, Bill! What ozzer sings?" Fleur asked, though she wasn't really sure she wanted to know.

He shook his head. "Stupid things. I'm not going to repeat them. It doesn't matter what she thinks." He tried to smile, and changed the subject. "So, what do you want to do for your birthday?" Fleur choked back her tears. She somehow didn't feel much in the mood to celebrate any more.


	12. Fleur's birthday: II

I got it done!

Sorry for yet another in the myriad "what happened to Fred's hand on Mrs. Weasley's clock" theories, but I thought it had to be in there as I'd mentioned the clock already. By the way, the hand fell off by magic, no one pulled it off.

**27****th**** September 1998**** Fleur Delacour Weasley is 22**

**II**

Fleur's birthday dawned clear and bright, a perfect autumn day. Bill had conjured bunches of roses and carnations to fill their bedroom and the living room, and Fleur loved the necklace he had bought her. There was a flurry of owls bringing presents and cards from her family and friends in France, and from Bill's brothers and Ginny. Miraculously, even Charlie – who was so bad at remembering birthdays he had once forgotten his own – had remembered her. But there was nothing from her mother- and father-in-law. Both she and Bill realised, of course, but neither of them said anything about it, both afraid of upsetting the other one again.

But when Bill arrived at work, there was an owl awaiting him from his father. Bill pulled the roll of parchment from its leg impatiently. _"Bill. Your mother is very upset. Can you both come and talk to us this evening? Mum doesn't need this now when she's so worried about George. Dad."_ Bill's anger rekindled at the implied accusation in the last sentence, and he sent a reply back at once. _"No we can't come tonight. It's Fleur's birthday and we're going out. We'll come tomorrow if you insist, but unless Mum apologises for what she said about Fleur, I don't think I have anything to say. Bill."_ He knew that that reply would do nothing to heal the rift between him and Fleur and his parents, but with the way he was feeling right now he didn't care very much.

He and Fleur both agreed to forget about the row and enjoy their evening out together. Carlino's, in a lamp-lit lane off Diagon Alley, was becoming increasingly popular with the wizarding community, and they had been lucky to get a table. Despite everything, they enjoyed the meal. Afterwards, they wandered back along Diagon Alley, looking in shop windows and deciding what they would buy if they were rich, before Disapparating back to Shell Cottage.

There was another owl from his father waiting for Bill when he arrived at work the next morning. _"We'll expect to see you at The Burrow this evening. We need to sort this out. Dad." _Bill owled back to say they would come, but remained unconvinced that sorting things out would be easy or even possible.

At lunchtime, someone brought him a message that his brother was waiting for him downstairs. Bill groaned. He really did not feel capable of dealing with Ron's problems with the shop or listening to Percy's lectures on not upsetting their mother today. But when he reached the entrance hall of the Bank, he had a surprise. "George!" he exclaimed. "What are you doing here?"

"Weren't you expecting me?" George asked. "I sent a message up."

"Yeah, but they just said my brother. I thought it'd be Percy or Ron. What's up?"

"Bill, can we go somewhere and talk?" George asked. Bill shot a quick look at him. He had not seen George since his breakdown on Hermione's birthday over a week ago. Whenever Bill had been at The Burrow in the last week, George had either been in his room – or Percy's room, rather, as he was still refusing to go into the one he had shared with Fred – or at the graveyard. George looked ill. His face was pale, making his red hair seem even more vivid than usual in contrast, and his brown eyes seemed dull and lifeless. Bill knew he had scarcely spoken a word to anyone since his breakdown, but it looked like that might be going to change now.

"Sure," he said, wondering if he had the energy to cope with George right now, but realising there was no way he could refuse. "Can you face Viggo's, or d'you want to go up to my office?"

"Viggo's is fine," said George. "As long as you pay. I haven't got any money."

Bill grinned. "Typical! C'mon then."

However, once they were seated in the bar, a sandwich and a drink in front of each of them, George seemed uncertain of how to start.

Bill looked at him sympathetically. "I can't help if you won't talk to me," he pointed out gently.

George managed a half-smile. "Yeah, I know, but it's difficult." He sighed. "Bill – that clock hand …" Bill looked at him sharply, but said nothing. George swallowed, and continued. "I though it'd just – gone. Like-like Fred." His eyes filled with tears, but he blinked them back. "I don't – I don't blame Fleur for hiding it. I think it would just about have finished me off if I'd seen it that morning. Mum too, whatever she says about it now. Fleur did the right thing."

Bill smiled, grateful that George at least understood. "Well, I think she did, but I guess I'm biased. Is Mum still angry?"

George nodded. "I'm afraid so. I thought she'd get over it – Dad and Percy have been trying to talk her round – but she's absolutely livid with Fleur still. You too – she thinks you knew all along that Fleur had it."

Bill shook his head. "I didn't. I told her I didn't." He sighed. "She said awful things about Fleur, George. About her not being part of the family. I can't just let that go. Fleur's my _wife_."

"Yeah, mate, I know," George replied. "But I don't think Mum meant a lot of what she said. She was just taking it out on you because she was upset and you were there. Not that she'd admit that … The whole thing's just a mess. I wish I knew what to do about it."

"You and me both," Bill said grimly. "We're supposed to be coming over this evening to sort it out, but …" He shook his head. "If Mum's still in that mood, I don't see how we can. But it's not your problem, George, it's mine and Fleur's and Mum and Dad's. You've got enough on your plate without worrying about this as well. Tell me how you're doing."

George swallowed and closed his eyes. "I just – I just can't get my head round the fact that Fred's gone," he said. "I mean, I can't avoid knowing it however much I'd like to, but it's so hard to accept. I was doing okay, I really was, but last week, I dunno. It was like it really hit me that he's not coming back. Ever. When I saw myself in that mirror and I thought for a split second it was Fred… I miss him so much. All the time. I don't know how to carry on without him, Bill."

He was unable to go on speaking, and Bill leant over the table and gripped his hand as his tears spilled over. "Oh George," he whispered. "I'm so sorry."

George choked, and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. "I can't face our old room – which is stupid as I went in there before. I can't face the shop – which isn't fair on Ron and Lee. I can't face talking to anyone – although I know that Mum and Dad are worried sick about me. I just want him back, Bill. So much …"

He started crying again, and Bill came round the table to sit beside him and hug him. "And we're arguing about a stupid clock," he muttered, half to himself.

George tried to smile. "Don't let Mum hear you call it stupid," he said through his tears. "She's mad enough with you as it is."

Bill hugged him tighter, blinking back his own tears. "It will get better, little brother. I know you can't imagine it now, but it will. It has to."

"Yeah, I know," George replied softly. "But I almost don't want it to. I mean, that would be like saying it's okay that Fred's d-dead, and it-it isn't okay at all, is it? Does that make any sense?" He choked, and began to cry again.

"Yeah," Bill said. "It makes perfect sense, but Fred wouldn't want …" He stopped himself from continuing, but George said: "It's okay, you can say it, you're right. Fred _wouldn't_ want me to be miserable forever. I mean, if I'd died I wouldn't want him to be. But I don't know how to do it, Bill. It would have been easier if both of us had died."

Bill's arms tightened around his brother again, and his own tears spilled over. "Don't Georgie. Don't say that. It's bad enough losing Fred. We couldn't have borne to lose both of you. You're going to get through this somehow. And you're not on your own, even if it feels like it sometimes."

George swallowed. "I know. I do know that. Even if I act like an ungrateful git at times. Thanks Bill."

Bill swallowed his own tears and stood up. "Come on. I'm going to take you home."

George looked up at him in surprise. "Don't you have to get back to work?"

Bill shrugged. "I should, but this is more important. I need to talk to Mum too and sort things out with her. Arguing about a clock is just stupid. Fred would be livid with the pair of us – and don't say I don't know what he'd think, because he bloody well _would_. I'll make up the time at work tomorrow. Come on."

Their mother came running out of the back door as she heard them Apparate in the yard. George had been gone for hours, and she was worried. "George, thank goodness! Where have you…?" she exclaimed, but then stopped short as she saw Bill.

"Mum …" his voice was hardly above a whisper.

"Oh Bill!" she cried.

Their eyes met, and both knew that what had passed between them two days ago no longer mattered. Molly knew that Fleur had meant to do the right thing for all of them by hiding the clock hand. Bill knew that what his mother had said about Fleur was just her lashing out in pain at the nearest target, as George had said, that it was not a reflection of her true feelings for Fleur. Then they were hugging each other, and both of them were crying, but everything was alright between them again. There were some things that were far more important than a clock, however special it was.


	13. Angelina's birthday

This one's a bit different. Apologies if you don't like the George/Katie pairing, it's the one I'm going with.

(And a whole chapter without Bill, except for a mention in passing that I couldn't resist.)

**24****th**** October 1998**** Angelina Johnson is 21**

The notice board in the tiny cubby hole that passed for an office behind the public part of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes was covered in notes, adverts, photos and invitations. A photo of the victorious Gryffindor Quidditch team of four years ago – Harry held aloft on Fred and George's shoulders holding the Cup high; Oliver sobbing; Angelina, Alicia and Katie grinning madly – was in the centre, partially obscured by a mail-order price list, a postcard from Charlie in Romania and various hand-written notes. In George's writing: _"Ron – you eat all the biscuits – buy some more!" _In Lee's: _"Order more Pygmy Puffs." _Bill Weasley's untidy scrawl: _"Ron and George – Mum's birthday on the 30__th. __Do not forget__."_ George's again: _"Shivering Sherbets?? Quidditch daydreams – Krum, Moran, Rimaldo – who else?" _

Pinned right at the top of the board was an invitation: _"Lee, George, Ron – Angelina's 21__st__ – Merlyn's – 24__th__ October – 8.30pm – Be there!" _Ron frowned as he read it for the twentieth time. He was pretty sure the _"Lee"_ bit was superfluous. Lee would know what Angelina was planning for her birthday if his suspicions were correct, but Lee had not said anything about who he was going out with either to him or to George. Ron would have to come right out and ask him, he supposed. If he was right, and Lee and Angelina were now a couple, George deserved to know about it before the party. Ron wished Hermione were here. She was so much better than he was at this sort of thing.

Ron sighed as he went back into the shop. George – pale-faced and strained-looking but back at work – was absorbed with a customer. Lee was refilling shelves. There was no chance of talking to Lee now. Ron needed to corner him when George was not around.

The shop door banged, and Katie Bell came in. Seeing Ron unoccupied, she grabbed his arm and steered him into the back room, looking over her shoulder to check that neither George nor Lee had followed them.

"Hi Katie," said Ron, surprised. "What's up? Or are you just trying to kidnap me?"

"Don't be an idiot, Ron," she snapped. "Who'd want to kidnap you? I do need to talk to you though. Does George know about Lee and Angelina?"

Ron let out a sigh. "They are an item then? Lee wouldn't say who he was going out with, and I wondered. I was going to collar him about it."

"So George _doesn't_ know?" Katie sounded anxious.

Ron shook his head. "Honestly, Katie, he's in such a state still, it wouldn't occur to him to wonder about who's going out with who."

Katie frowned. "He's going to find out sooner or later though. I mean – at Angelina's party – it's going to be pretty obvious. How d'you think he'll take it?"

"Badly, I should think," Ron replied honestly. "I know Fred and Angelina were never officially a couple, but everyone thought they would be sooner or later. Including Fred. And George. I don't know what Angie thought, of course."

"The same," sighed Katie. "Alicia says she's feeling pretty guilty about going out with Lee now. Which is presumably why Lee's keeping it quiet around you and George. But someone needs to tell George before the party."

Ron nodded. "Yeah. I'll tell him. Or get Lee to…"

Katie frowned again. "_That_ might not be the best idea. How about if I told him?"

Ron looked at her, raising his eyebrows. Her offer was very tempting. "It's not your problem, Katie. He's _my_ brother."

"I'll do it," said Katie, with decision. "Really, Ron, I think George'll take it better if it comes from me than from you or Lee."

"Well, if you're sure," Ron said, wondering inwardly why Katie was so bothered about this.

Katie nodded, hoping she wasn't blushing. "Yeah, I'm sure," she said. "I'll tell him. Can I borrow him now for an hour or so?"

"Okay," answered Ron, relieved but puzzled that she seemed so keen to take on a job that he had not been looking forward to at all.

Katie smiled at him, and went back into the front room of the shop. George had finished with his customer, and Ron, following behind Katie, saw his eyes light up when he saw her.

"Hi Katie," George said. "I didn't see you come in."

Katie grinned at him. "You were busy," she said. "Have you got time to come out for a quick drink?"

The thought was belatedly occurring to Ron that there was more going on here than he had realised. "Go on, George," he said, before his brother could object. "It's quiet enough today. We can cope without you for a bit."

"Okay then," George agreed, pulling off his magenta robes and putting them behind the counter.

Ron watched as George and Katie left the shop, Katie slipping her arm through George's in a manner that was definitely proprietorial. He turned, and saw that Lee was watching them too, a look of surprise on his face.

"Am I missing something here?" he asked Ron, as the door closed behind George and Katie.

"I think we all are mate," replied Ron, grinning. "Including George. But Katie clearly knows what she wants."

Lee looked awkward. "Ron – I-I need to talk to you about something."

"Yeah, I know you do," said Ron, a definite note of impatience in his voice. "But Katie just told me – though I suspected already – and now she's telling George, so you're off the hook, mate. Were you and Angelina actually planning on saying anything before the party, or were you just going to spring it on George then?"

"No of course we weren't," protested Lee hotly. "But there never seems to have been a good time to tell him. I would have done it, really I would."

"Yeah, I know," said Ron. "I don't think Fred'd object under the circumstances, but George might not see it like that."

Lee was saved from having to reply by the entrance of several customers, so the subject was shelved between them – for which fact both he and Ron were profoundly grateful.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

That evening, Angelina Johnson, Alicia Spinnett and Katie Bell were drinking coffee in the flat which Angelina and Alicia shared.

"So how did George take it?" Angelina asked Katie worriedly.

Katie shook her head. "Okay, I think, but it's hard to tell really. He didn't say much, but then he doesn't say much about anything these days."

"George?" asked Alicia in surprise. "Are we talking about the same person?"

Katie smiled ruefully. "Yeah. It's really hard seeing him so quiet. Not like George at all. I think he's been ill too. He looked pretty awful this morning."

Angelina and Alicia regarded her sympathetically. "Katie?" Angelina said quietly, exchanging a look with Alicia. "Are you getting in too deep here? We don't want to see you get hurt."

Katie sighed, and brushed a hand impatiently across her eyes. "I'm in deep already. I can't help the way I feel about George, or switch it off just because Fred died." Alicia put her arm around her friend and hugged her, as Katie blinked back tears. "You don't need to worry about me you two," she said. "I'm not stupid. I know George can't think about anyone but Fred at the moment. But when he can, I plan to be around. I can wait. As long as it takes."

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

"Ron! Are you ready?" George yelled up to his brother.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm coming," said Ron, clattering down the stairs into the shop. "I haven't got any money though. "Can I take some from the till?" George frowned. "Oh, go on George, you let …" Ron's voice tailed off.

"I let Fred, you were going to say," George growled. "I didn't let him, he did it anyway. Put an IOU in, and make sure you pay it back."

Ron grinned as he headed for the cash register. "Thanks George."

The two brothers headed along Diagon Alley to Merlyn's. As usual, the music was so loud you could hardly hear yourself speak. The lightshow had a new addition. George had talked the owner of the club into putting in a regular order for indoor fireworks, which livened things up no end on the dance floor.

George was grateful that Katie had warned him about Lee and Angelina, so that he had had time to get used to the idea before he saw them together. He'd told Katie that he was okay with it, and he was really, but it still gave him a jolt to see Angelina, who he'd always regarded as his twin's girl, with someone else. The fact that the someone else was his – and Fred's – best friend just made it harder.

Ron saw him watching Lee and Angelina dancing together, and came over to him. "George?" Are you okay?" he asked, putting a hand on his brother's arm.

George nodded and sighed. "Yeah, I'm okay."

Ron looked sympathetic. "I'm not sure I like it much either," he admitted.

George shook his head. "I guess Fred wouldn't mind." He smiled. "Well, he would, if he was here. He'd bloody murder Lee, but you know what I mean."

Ron smiled too. "Yeah, I know. I can just imagine it…" For some reason, this struck both of them as funny, and they laughed. "C'mon," said Ron. "Let's get another drink. We need it."

Katie watched them heading for the bar together. She had seen George watching Lee and Angelina, and had wondered whether to go and say something to him, but Ron had beaten her to it. Perhaps it was better like that. As she had said to Angelina and Alicia, she could wait.


	14. Molly's birthday: I

Another two-parter.

Please don't hate Charlie too much - he's having a very bad time at the moment.

And more Bill ;-)

**30****th**** October 1998** **Molly Weasley is 48**

Charlie sighed and paced restlessly around his room in the dragon keepers' hostel. He was looking at two letters that had arrived by owl that morning. The first, from his father, made him feel guilty, but he could live with that. He was getting used to feeling guilty anyway. It read: _"Dear Charlie, I'm sorry you can't make it home for Mum's birthday. She was really hoping to have everyone together for it. Hope to see you sometime soon anyway. Love, Dad."_

The second letter, from Bill, was different. Charlie had read it through several times, feeling alternately guilty and furiously angry. If his father couldn't see through his motives for not wanting to go to his mother's birthday dinner, his older brother certainly could. _"Dear Charlie," _the letter read. _"Stop making excuses and swap your bloody shifts. Mum wants everyone here for her birthday, and after the last few months, she damn well deserves it. You've been home precisely once since Fred's funeral, and it isn't going to get any easier the longer you put it off. If you can't face staying at The Burrow, then come to us instead, but come. And I know seeing George is hard – I saw the way you avoided looking at him at Ginny's coming of age – but you can't keep away from him forever. The rest of us cope with it – Ron has to live and work with him for Godric's sake – so you can for a day or two. Hiding away with your dragons won't make Fred any less dead. You have to face it sooner or later. Don't be a coward, Charlie, it's not like you. Bill."_

Charlie screwed up the letter and flung it against the wall, swearing vehemently under his breath. How the hell did Bill always know how he was feeling? He'd have to go, of course. With Bill in this mood, he'd be quite likely to come over to Romania and fetch him himself if he refused, and Charlie thought it would be better to at least keep up the appearance of coming willingly. Sighing, he sat down at his desk, pulled over some parchment and a quill and wrote: _"Hi Dad, Managed to change my shifts after all. See you some time on the afternoon of the 30__th__. Probably just for a couple of days. Love, Charlie." _To Bill he wrote: _Okay, okay, I'm coming, if only to shut you up. See you on the 30__th__. Charlie."_ He rolled up the parchments and went downstairs to find an owl.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Percy was not looking forward to his mother's birthday either. Since his return to the family fold, he had learnt to cope well enough with his family individually or a few at a time. He was actually enjoying living back at The Burrow again and being fussed over by his mother. But the whole family at once was a bit overwhelming. With all of them there, the feeling that some of them at least must wish that it was him that had died became more intrusive. So did the guilt that he had been with Fred when he died and not been able to save him. And seeing George still hurt, though Percy had become almost immune to that now, especially since sharing his room with him for several weeks following George's breakdown.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

By mid-afternoon on Molly's birthday, everyone except Charlie was assembled at The Burrow. Arthur had prevailed upon Professor McGonagall to let Ginny out of school for the occasion, so she was there, together with Harry and Hermione. Molly had been banished from the kitchen, and it was slightly chaotic as the rest of them prepared the meal. It was too cold to eat outside, so George, Ron and Harry were trying to squeeze enough tables and chairs into the dining room for all of them. Both Arthur and Bill were on edge watching out for Charlie's arrival, neither of them wanting to admit to anyone else that they were worried about his non-appearance.

Finally, there was a loud crack as Charlie Apparated in the yard. Ginny dropped the knife she was holding and ran over to hug him as he came through the back door. Charlie's eyes met Bill's over the top of their sister's head with a look that was almost challenging, but Bill decided to let it go. The last thing he wanted was to argue with Charlie when he had finally conquered his fears of being with his family enough to come home.

Charlie found it every bit as difficult as he had anticipated being back at The Burrow. How he had handled it at Ginny's coming of age was beyond him now. When they were all gathered round the table eating – the meal was good, though perhaps not quite up to Mrs. Weasley's standards – the fact of Fred's absence was so painful to him that he honestly did not understand how everyone else could carry on eating and talking and laughing. George, on the other side of the table from him, was flanked by Bill on one side and Percy on the other, and that was just so wrong. When did you ever see George without Fred next to him? And how could George bear to sit next to Percy, even to joke with him as he was doing, when Percy had been with Fred when he died and he hadn't? As for George himself … Bill had been right, Charlie could hardly stand to look at him. He didn't know how the others managed when they saw him every day and had the constant reminder of Fred's face in front of them.

Charlie was so absorbed in his thoughts that he was completely unaware of several of the others shooting worried looks at him. His mother, sitting next to him, had been delighted to have her second son home for her birthday after all. But now she could not help worrying that his face was pale beneath its scattering of freckles, that he had barely touched his dinner, and that he only spoke when he must to answer a remark that one of the others directed at him. Bill too was concerned. He had been the only person to realise why Charlie had been so reluctant to come home since Fred's death, and now it seemed that his fears about Charlie's feelings were correct.

As for Percy, he was aware of Charlie's silent hostility towards him, and understood it only too well. He knew that Charlie must blame him for being with Fred when he died and not being able to save him; for coming back in time for the battle despite his years of estrangement from the family when he, Charlie, had not made it back in time; for being alive when Fred was dead.

The pièce de résistance of the meal was a flower-covered birthday cake that Ginny had made, refusing all offers of help from the others. Her father laughed and hugged her when he saw it, and told her that cake-making must be an inherited skill. After the cake was eaten, Molly and Arthur were hustled into the living room with their coffee, while the rest of the family cleared up.

Bill was keeping a wary eye on Charlie and Percy, conscious of a tension between the two of them that no one else seemed to have noticed. He knew how difficult Charlie was finding this return home, and he was afraid that he might take his feelings out on Percy if given half a chance.

The trigger, when it came, was relatively minor. The kitchen was crowded, and Percy backed into Charlie by accident, causing him to drop the tray of glasses he was carrying.

"Watch it, idiot!" snarled Charlie rudely, as the tray and its contents crashed to the floor.

Percy raised his eyebrows at this, but hastened to apologise: "Sorry Charlie, I wasn't looking where I was going."

Charlie glared at him. "Yeah, that figures. You always seem to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, don't you?" he growled.

Percy's eyes widened in astonishment. "What the hell's that supposed to mean?" he asked, his own voice rising.

"Oh, I think you know well enough," shouted Charlie, shaking off the restraining hand that Bill had laid on his arm. "How come Fred ended up under that wall and not you? How come you were with him when he died and didn't do a fucking thing to save him?"

There was a stunned silence in the kitchen, none of the others quite believing – or wanting to believe – what Charlie had just said.

"Charlie, stop now!" cried Bill, putting a hand on his brother's arm again.

"Keep out of this, Bill! It's none of your fucking business!" yelled Charlie, beside himself with fury, pulling away from Bill's grasp. "Well, Perce? How come?"

Percy was white-faced, nearly as angry as Charlie now. "Look," he shouted. "It's not my fault it was Fred, not me. Blaming me won't alter the fact that he's dead. At least I was there, which is more than you managed!"

Charlie gasped, and launched himself on Percy, knocking him to the ground and hitting and punching him with a fury even he had not realised he felt. Percy fought back fiercely. There was a split second of stunned silence and stillness before anyone else moved, and then Bill and Ron hauled Charlie back, while George and Harry grabbed Percy and held onto him. Percy's glasses were broken, and his nose was bleeding badly. He relaxed almost immediately as George and Harry pulled him away from Charlie, his anger spent already.

Charlie, by contrast, continued to struggle in Bill and Ron's grasp. He seemed oblivious to the blood running into his eyes from a gash on his forehead and to the cuts on his knuckles where Percy's glasses had broken.

"Charlie, calm down!" yelled Bill, fighting to keep his hold on his brother.

"Let – me – go!" choked Charlie, furiously.

"Not until you calm down," said Bill, reaching for his wand. "I'll put a body-bind curse on you if you don't."

"You wouldn't dare," gasped Charlie, but slowed his struggles slightly when he saw the wand in his brother's hand and the look in his eyes.

"Wouldn't I?" asked Bill grimly. "Don't try me."

Charlie swallowed, and stopped struggling altogether, pulling away from Bill and Ron as their grip on his arms slackened. "Okay, _okay_," he muttered. "Just let me go." Then he was across the kitchen and out of the back door, even as Molly and Arthur emerged from the living room to see what all the noise was about.


	15. Molly's birthday: II

Here we go - Molly's birthday part 2.

There will definitely be a gap before the next one. Despite my love for Bill, I have no idea what to do with his birthday.

**30****th**** October 1998** **Molly Weasley is 48**

**II**

A scene of absolute chaos met Arthur and Molly's eyes as they entered the kitchen. Percy was on the floor, his face covered in blood. George was beside him, looking stunned, his arm round his brother's shoulders. Hermione knelt on Percy's other side, his broken glasses in one hand and her wand in the other. Ginny, Ron and Harry were standing by the back door, Ginny crying, and Ron and Harry looking as stunned as George. Bill and Fleur were sitting at the table. Bill was crying too, and Fleur had her arms round him. There was broken glass all over the floor, and no sign at all of Charlie.

"What the hell…?" gasped Arthur.

"What happened?" asked Molly simultaneously, but no one answered them, all too caught up in what had just occurred to even acknowledge their presence.

Percy pulled away from George's encircling arm. "He was right, you know," he said harshly. "I should have saved Fred. It should've been me who died."

For a full minute, no one said anything. The only sounds in the kitchen were Ginny's crying and the sobs Bill was struggling to control.

Surprisingly, it was Hermione who finally answered Percy. "That's rubbish, you know Percy," she said calmly. "Don't forget, Ron, and Harry and I were there too. Don't you think any of us would have done _anything_ to save Fred if we could have? There wasn't anything we could have done though. It just happened. Things like that happen in wars. It's horrible and unjust and unfair, but they do. It wasn't anybody's fault." She was crying now too, and Ron moved away from his sister and Harry to put his arm round her.

"She's right, mate," George whispered, taking Percy's hand. "It just happened. It could've been any one of you who died. No one wants it to have been you, really they don't. What we really want is for it not to have been anyone." His voice cracked, and he swallowed hard.

"Charlie wanted it to be me," Percy retorted, shaking his head.

Bill had managed to control his sobs now, and he raised his head at this. "Charlie was upset. He didn't mean it," he said shakily. "It's my fault. I knew how bad he was feeling. I should have stopped him."

"It's not your fault Charlie behaved like an idiot," protested Ginny, freeing herself from Harry's arms and coming over to hug her oldest brother. "You need to stop feeling responsible for the rest of us all the time."

"Are any of you going to tell us what the hell's going on?" asked Arthur angrily. "And where is Charlie?" He looked around at them all, finally picking on Harry as the one who looked most capable of normal speech at the moment. "Harry, what happened?"

Harry took a deep breath. "Percy banged into Charlie and made him drop what he was carrying. Charlie was – mad. He said – horrible things – about it being Percy's fault that Fred – that Fred died. Then he hit him." It was a pretty bald summary of what had happened, but at least it was some sort of explanation.

"I said horrible things to him too," admitted Percy. "And I gave as good as I got when he jumped me."

Molly and Arthur looked round at their family in despair. "And where is Charlie?" choked Molly.

"He ran out," said Bill hoarsely, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. "I know where he's gone. I'll find him." He exchanged a look with George.

"Okay," said Arthur, looking at Bill keenly. "Are you sure you're alright?"

Bill nodded. "I'm fine. I'll find him soon enough." He hugged Fleur briefly, and strode across the kitchen and out of the back door.

Arthur looked round at the others. "Let's get this mess cleared up. Percy, come here, and let your mother sort out your face."

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Bill made his way to the shed and grabbed a broom. He flew low over the hills behind the house, finding the cave almost without thinking about it. There was a broomstick lying on the grass outside the cave entrance, and Bill dropped his own broom down with it before ducking his head and entering the cave. Charlie was curled on the cave floor, sobbing bitterly.

"Oh Charlie…" Bill dropped down beside him, and pulled his brother into his arms. Charlie continued to sob, clinging desperately to Bill. "It's okay, it's okay, hush Charlie, hush. It's okay," Bill repeated over and over as Charlie continued to hang on to him and cry.

Eventually, Charlie managed to get his sobs under control, and drew a long shaky breath. "How did you know where I was?" he gasped.

"Where d'you think _I_ came after Ginny's party?" Bill asked with a half-smile. "We think alike a lot of the time."

Charlie pulled away from him and looked at his face. "Here? Hell, Bill, I should've realised. How come George found you then?"

Bill laughed. "He and Fred used to follow us apparently. Guess we weren't as clever as we thought we were."

Charlie tried to smile, but choked, and began to cry again. "Bill, how do you all _do _it?" he asked desperately.

"Do what?" Bill asked, confused.

Charlie swallowed. "S-say his-his name? Talk and laugh and have a party as if there isn't a huge hole there? See George's face and not want to scream because Fr-Fred should be there beside him? How d'you all do it? I can't. I just _can't_."

He started to cry again, quietly this time, but with such a hopeless look in his eyes that Bill felt his own eyes pricking with tears again. "Oh Charlie." He held his brother tight once more.

"How do you do it?" Charlie repeated. "I need to know, Bill."

Bill leant back against the cave wall and closed his eyes. "I honestly don't know," he said quietly. "You carry on because you have to. And it's not only you. You know that everyone else is feeling as bad if not worse. And-and somehow it seems to have worked out that when one of us is having a particularly bad time, someone else is coping better and can help a bit." He smiled. "We've been taking it in turns to have breakdowns …" His voice softened. "Charlie, I know you thought it'd be easier to cope with if you weren't at home, but I think it's been harder on you because you haven't had everyone else around you."

Charlie nodded. "I guess," he said hoarsely. "When – when I'm in Romania it's like-like I can forget that Fr-Fred…" His voice broke on a sob. "Hell, I still can't say his name. That Fred's dead." He swallowed hard, but continued. "I mean, I don't see any of you anyway, so it's like I can pretend that everything's okay at home. Even though I know it isn't really. When-when I was there I could cope as long as I didn't think about it too much. I was so scared to come home Bill, so scared… You were right. I _am_ a coward." His voice had dropped to a whisper, and fresh tears streaked his face as Bill pulled him close again.

"You're not a coward Charlie. You came home didn't you? I should never have said that, but I was mad at you."

"I'd never have come if you hadn't bullied me into it," Charlie admitted gruffly. He sighed. "Bloody hell, Bill, how am I going to face Percy? How could I say those things to him? I just – I just can't get over the fact I wasn't there for the battle; that I turned up when it was too late to do any good. I should have been there. But to take it out on Percy – fuck it Bill, how could I do that? He feels bad enough already about not being able to save Fred, about the fact that he survived and Fr-Fred didn't. You only have to look at him to see that. And I had to go and make things worse, because I hoped it might make _me_ feel better…"

"You'll sort it out," said Bill firmly. "Percy understands. You just need to talk to each other properly. And it wasn't your fault that you weren't there for the battle. You were in Romania because that's where the Order wanted you to be."

Charlie swallowed and nodded. "Yeah, I know. But-but it's so hard not to feel guilty. Not having been there when …" His voice tailed off, and he rubbed his hand impatiently across his eyes.

There was a noise outside the cave, and then George's voice: "Can we come in?" Bill and Charlie looked at each other in surprise as George appeared at the cave entrance with Percy behind him. "Can we come in?" George repeated.

"Sure," said Bill. "Might be a bit crowded though." He was right. The cave – which had been an ideal hideout for two boys – was scarcely big enough for four grown men. Somehow, they managed to make room for all of them.

Charlie looked at Percy, and took a deep breath: "Perce, I-I-I'm so sorry. Those things I said … I'm so sorry." Percy smiled at him. "It's okay. You were upset. I know you didn't mean it. I said some horrible things too." They gripped each others' hands – there was no room for anything else in the confined space of the cave – both of them blinking back tears.

Charlie was determined to do things properly now. He took another deep breath and looked at George. Really looked at him, so that he saw George himself, and not just George-who-looked-so-much-like-Fred-it-hurt. "George, I…" His voice was shaking despite his efforts at self-control. "I've hardly looked at you since-since… I'm sorry. It just hurts …"

He sobbed despite himself, and George leant forward and put a hand on his shoulder. "It's alright, I understand. Didn't you hear about my mirror smashing episode? I know a lot of people find the way I look hard to cope with. I do myself come to that."

Charlie gulped. "Yeah, but… You can't go through the whole of your life with people avoiding looking at you because you look like-like Fr-Fred." His voice cracked again. "I mean you're not just someone who looks like Fred, you're yourself too, and that's more important."

George was biting back tears now too. "It's okay Charlie, really. I'm almost used to it now. It's okay."

Charlie swallowed, and leant back against the cave wall. "I think - I think I want to go home now," he whispered. "I have to make it up to Mum for sabotaging her birthday."

Bill smiled. "Well, it was your turn. I sabotaged Ginny's." They all laughed, if a bit shakily.

"Who's birthday's next?" asked George, grinning. "And who gets to muck up that one?"

"Mine," said Bill, also grinning. "And no one's getting the chance to muck it up. I'm going out with Fleur, and _none _of you are invited. Come on, let's go home."


	16. Bill's birthday:  Molly and Arthur

Okay, another multi-chaptered birthday, partly because I don't have time for super-long chapters now the kids are back at school and I'm back at work every day.

This is a short one, but I wanted to include it, because I've done a lot about the Weasley kids, and not much about their parents who have, after all, lost their son.

And there will be a "Bill's birthday with Bill actually in it" chapter later.

**29****th**** November 1998**** Bill Weasley is 28**

**1. Molly and Arthur**

Arthur came home from work to find Molly sitting at the kitchen table with a photo album open in front of her and tears running down her face. She looked up as her husband came in, and tried to brush the tears away before he could see them, but he knew her too well.

"Oh Molly," he said gently, sitting down beside her and putting his arms round her. "Why do you keep looking at those? It only upsets you."

Molly wiped her tears with her apron, and tried to smile. "It's Bill's birthday. I always look at the albums on the children's birthdays, you know I do."

The album was open at a picture of the Weasley children taken on Bill's eleventh birthday. Bill was holding his baby sister, and Charlie held one-year-old Ron. Percy and the twins were standing in front of them. Baby Ginny was cooing and flailing her arms around, and the others were smiling and waving, apart from Fred and George. They were both quite obviously trying to kick Percy, who kept trying to move out of the picture to get out of their reach.

Arthur smiled. "I don't think we ever managed to get a photo of all of them that didn't have someone misbehaving in it," he chuckled.

Molly smiled, and then sighed. "Usually the twins," she said, and then started to cry again. "Oh Arthur… Fred won't ever get to be twenty-eight. He was only twenty. It's not fair, Arthur, it's just not fair. He had his whole life in front of him…"

Arthur hugged her again, his own eyes filling with tears. "I know, love, I know, but wars aren't fair. No one ever said they were. We all knew what we were fighting for, Fred included. We all knew what might happen."

Molly choked. "I was so scared, ever since V-Voldemort came back, ever since we joined the Order, that we'd lose someone. So scared, all the time…" Her voice dropped to a whisper. "I suppose I should be grateful it wasn't worse. Cedric Diggory was only seventeen, and he was Amos and Margery's only one; and that little Creevey boy was sixteen…" She began to sob, and Arthur held her close, blinking back the tears from his own eyes.

"It _is_ hard Molly," he said quietly. "And it's always going to be hard. Having the others doesn't make losing Fred any easier. You can't replace one child with another. But at least we _do_ have the others."

Molly gulped, and nodded. "You're right," she said. "We have a lot to be thankful for. But the others … I can't help worrying about them. About how this is affecting them … Bill's so busy looking after everyone else he hardly has time to think about himself, and I do wonder Arthur whether what happened to him when G-Greyback attacked him is worse than he lets us know. And Charlie's stuck in Romania, but he obviously isn't coping well. He'd never have said what he did to Percy if he was. And Percy is always going to feel guilty about all those years when he wasn't around, and about being with Fred and not being able to save him. And-and Ron and Ginny are- are just so _young_ to have to deal with all this. And George…" She stopped, unable to go on. What was there to say about George? Both she and Arthur knew just how impossibly difficult Fred's death was for George to come to terms with.

"I worry about them too," said Arthur quietly. "But, Molly, when _haven't_ we worried about the children? It's part of being a parent. It's what parents _do_."

"You're right." Molly gave a reluctant smile. "You think it'll be easier when they're grown up, but it isn't, it's just different." She wiped her eyes with her apron again. "I'm being silly, Arthur. Sorry."

He kissed her. "You're not silly, Molly Prewett, and I love you. You don't look old enough to have a twenty-eight-year-old son, let alone six other kids."

"Five…" Molly whispered, but Arthur put his hand over her mouth and shook his head.

"Six," he said firmly. "Fred will _always_ be our son. Nothing can alter that."


	17. Bill's birthday: Ginny & Hermione

Not sure this is in the right place, but I wanted a Ginny chapter somewhere, and this seemed as good a place as any.

Next one will have Bill in, I promise!

**29****th**** November 1998**** Bill Weasley is 28**

**2. Ginny and Hermione**

Ginny knew that Harry and Hermione were worried about her, but she didn't know what she was supposed to do about it. She caught both of them giving her sidelong glances in class and in the common room, and more than once they had stopped talking abruptly when she entered the room, so she knew they were talking about her. But she couldn't help the way she felt, or pretend to be happy when she wasn't. She couldn't help feeling that going to lessons and worrying about homework and exams was pretty pointless when Fred was dead. Even Quidditch didn't seem much fun any more. She couldn't help the fact that there was no way that she could walk along the corridor where Fred had died, so she had to take long detours to get to the History of Magic and Transfiguration classrooms. Nor could she help the fact that so many things – stupid things that had nothing at all to do with Fred – made her cry these days. She found that very hard to cope with. After all, she had been the one of the Weasley children who never cried – much to her brothers' disgust.

On the morning of her oldest brother's birthday, Ginny woke early from a dream that she could not remember but which left her biting back tears. She knew there was no way that she would be able to get back to sleep, so she dressed quietly and made her way up to the Owlery to send Bill's card. She was unaware that Hermione had heard her, and was following at a discreet distance.

By the time she reached the Owlery, Ginny was crying again, although she wasn't sure why. She called down one of the school owls, and tried to tie Bill's card onto its leg, but her eyes were so full of tears that she could not see what she was doing. She jumped when Hermione came up behind her.

"Why are you trying to murder that poor owl?" Hermione asked, putting a hand on her friend's shoulder. "And why are you crying?"

"I'm not," muttered Ginny furiously, although tears continued to pour down her cheeks.

Hermione took the card from Ginny's hand and tied it to the owl's leg for her. "What are you sending Bill?" she asked conversationally, hoping that talking about something normal would make Ginny open up a bit.

"Card," said Ginny shortly. "It's his birthday. He's twenty-eight. Doesn't that seem old to you?"

Hermione grinned. "I'm sure Bill would just _love_ to hear you calling him old."

Ginny managed a smile. "He wouldn't be terribly impressed, would he?" she said, but then sighed again. "Fred was only twenty…"

Hermione put her arm round her friend's shoulder and hugged her. "I know. It's not fair Ginny."

Ginny choked, and began to cry again. "He'll never do any of the normal things like get married or have kids. And if the rest of us have children they won't have an Uncle Fred like they should have. I want him back Hermione, I just want him back." Hermione held her close as she cried, rubbing Ginny's back, thankful that her friend had opened up at least this much with her rather than insisting that she was alright, as she had been doing for days now.

Ginny swallowed hard, and scrubbed her eyes with her fists, pulling away from Hermione. "I'm sorry. I'm being silly. Fr-Fred would tell me off for making a stupid fuss."

"Oh Ginny," whispered Hermione, nearly in tears herself. "I don't think he would. Really I don't. However much he and George mucked about, you know you were always their little sister, and they looked out for you. Fred'd hate to see you so upset – especially about him."

Ginny nodded, trying to blink back her tears. "Yeah, I guess. They all looked out for me – still do. Advantage of having six big brothers. Or disadvantage sometimes when they won't mind their own business and let me do things my way." She managed a watery smile. "I don't think any of them will ever think of me as a proper grown-up even when I'm about fifty. I'll always be their baby sister."

"Probably," agreed Hermione. "But that's not necessarily a bad thing. It's because they care about you. You have a lovely family, Ginny, really you do."

Ginny nodded again. "Yeah, I know," she said huskily. "I guess I'm lucky. I shouldn't complain about them."

There was silence between the girls for a few minutes. But talking about families had set Ginny's mind working in a new direction – one which seemed as good as any other to change the subject. "Hermione?" she said. "Don't you think Bill and Fleur will have the gorgeousest kids ever when they get round to it?"

Hermione raised her eyebrows. "Give them a chance. They've only been married just over a year, and it's hardly been a _normal_ year has it?" she replied. "But you're right. Their kids should be pretty good-looking. I mean, Fleur's part Veela, so they've got a head start there already, and Bill is really nice looking too." She looked at her friend sharply, and a note of exasperation came into her voice, for Ginny had started to cry again. "_Now_ what have I said Ginny?"

Ginny shook her head, unable to speak for the moment. When she calmed down enough to speak, she said: "Now I _am_ being silly. You said – you said Bill _is _really nice looking. But he isn't now, is he? Not after Greyback attacked him."

Hermione hugged her again. "I think Bill is still nice looking," she insisted. "I mean, when you know him, you don't notice the scars. They're not important. Really Ginny, now you _are _crying about nothing. Fred would tell you off for that. So would Bill, if he knew."

Ginny looked at Hermione in horror. "Don't tell him!" she begged, and Hermione smiled.

"Of course I won't," she said. "What do you take me for? Come on Ginny, let's go to breakfast. Harry will think we've got lost if we don't go down soon. And then…"

Hermione hesitated, looking at her friend, wondering how Ginny would take this. "After breakfast, I'm going to go and see Professor McGonagall, and ask her to let you go back to The Burrow now rather than waiting till the end of term. I think you need to be at home right now."

To her relief, Ginny nodded, and managed to smile. "You're right Hermione. I want to go home. I want my Mum and Dad."

Hermione smiled too, and took her friend's arm. "Good. Now I'm hungry. Let's find some breakfast."


	18. Bill's birthday: Bill and Fleur

Shortish and (mostly) sweet.

This is for MBP and for Amy.

**29****th**** November 1998**** Bill Weasley is 28**

**3. Bill and Fleur**

"You are late," said Fleur accusingly, as Bill Apparated outside Shell Cottage and came in through the back door and into the living room. "I sought you said zat you were not going to work late on your birsday?"

"I didn't," replied Bill, pulling her to him and kissing her. "I went – I went to the graveyard."

"Oh Bill…" Fleur pulled away from him and looked up into his face. His blue eyes were sad, and there were marks of tears on his scarred cheeks that she had not noticed when he first came in.

"I-I got a birthday card from George," he said quietly. "I've-I've never had a card j-just from him before. It d-didn't f-feel right." His voice was shaking as he fought to stop himself from crying again.

Fleur pulled him close. "Oh Bill," she murmured. "I am so sorry."

Bill was struggling to pull himself together. "Do-do you think it's _ever_ going to get any easier?" he asked Fleur, almost desperately.

"You told me zat you said to George zat it would," she pointed out. "It must do Bill, it must..."

He was crying openly now, and he pulled away from her, dropping onto the settee and burying his face in his hands. Fleur sat beside him and wrapped her arms around him, rubbing his shaking shoulders, and biting back her own tears. "Bill, don't…" she implored. "It will get better really it will. Fred would not want everyone to be un'appy forever."

"Yeah, I know," Bill said gruffly, wiping his eyes with his hands. "But-but Fred was my little b-brother, Fleur. It hurts. It bloody well _hurts_."

"I know," she whispered, hugging him and kissing his wet face. "I know mon chéri, I know."

Bill wiped his face with his hands and swallowed the tears. "I'm sorry, Fleur," he choked. "I'm being stupid."

Fleur kissed him again, holding him tightly against her, and he smiled. "I love you, Mrs. Weasley," he murmured.

Fleur stiffened in his arms. "_Don't _call me zat," she protested. "It makes me sound like your muzzer."

Bill gave a shaky laugh and kissed her hard. "Ah, believe me Fleur," he whispered. "There is no way I could _ever _confuse you with my mother."

They had a table booked at Carlino's for eight o'clock, but they were early getting to Diagon Alley, so they indulged in their favourite pastime of window-shopping as they strolled along. George and Ron were rearranging the window display in Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, and waved to them as they passed.

In the restaurant, Fleur was careful to keep the conversation away from Fred and from the rest of the Weasley family. She knew that there was no way that she could stop her husband grieving for his brother – indeed, she would not want to - but she did think he worried far too much about the rest of his family, and that tonight at least he deserved a break.

However, it was inevitable that they could not avoid the subject all evening. Smiling, Bill asked Fleur whether Charlie had only remembered his birthday because she had reminded him. Fleur laughed. "Well, I might 'ave mentioned it when 'e was 'ere last weekend," she admitted. "I expect your muzzer did too. Charlie would never 'ave remembered ozzerwise. You know what 'e is like."

Bill chuckled. "Yeah, I do know," he said. "The best one was his fifth year at Hogwarts when he couldn't work out why all these owls were arriving for him and it was _his_ birthday…" He frowned, remembering how Charlie had looked the previous weekend when he had stayed at Shell Cottage. He was obviously still finding Fred's death very hard to come to terms with.

"Bill?" his wife asked, quick to pick up that Bill was concerned about one of his family again. "Are you worrying about Charlie again? 'E is okay now. You do not need to."

Bill shook his head. "Oh, I know he's doing better now he's coming home more. He's not likely to flatten anyone again for no good reason. But he's still struggling, I know he is."

Fleur sighed, and reached across the table to hold her husband's hands. "Ginny was right, you know," she said, tracing the scars on his hands with her fingers, and looking into his eyes.

Bill raised his eyebrows at her, looking puzzled. "What? Ginny was right when?"

"At your muzzer's birsday when she said zat you 'ave to stop feeling responsible for all of zem all ze time. She was right, Bill. Zey are all grown-up now, even Ginny. Charlie and Percy are older zan I am. It is not up to you to worry about zem all ze time."

Bill shook his head and groaned. "I can't help it. I'm the oldest. I've always worried about them, all my life. I can't just stop now. Especially now."

"I sink zat you 'ave to try zo," said Fleur seriously. "Really, Bill. It is not good for you or for zem eezer." She smiled. "Per'aps ze sing to do is to give you someone else to worry about…"

Bill's eyes widened. "Do you mean what I think you do?" he asked.

Fleur nodded. "Per'aps if we 'ave children of our own, you will worry about zem razzer zan about your bruzzers and sister," she whispered. "And I sink zat you and I will 'ave ze most beautiful children…"

Bill laughed, and leant across the table to kiss her. "I think you could be right, Mrs. Weasley," he murmured. "And I think that that is one of the best ideas I've heard for a long time."


	19. Charlie's birthday: I

Another two-parter, mostly because time constraints mean I won't get anything posted this week otherwise! 

And, yeah, I _know _the Weasleys don't need anything else to worry about. I wasn't really planning for this to happen, it just did!

(Minor edit for date.)

**12****th**** December 1998**** Charlie Weasley is 26**

**I**

Charlie was not going home for his birthday. At Bill's insistence, he had been home several times for weekends or odd days since his mother's birthday at the end of October, sometimes staying at The Burrow, and sometimes at Shell Cottage with Bill and Fleur. Bill had been right – all his life he had found it infuriating how often Bill _was _right – he was finding Fred's death easier to come to terms with now he was coming home regularly. In some ways of course it was much harder at home. In the familiar places, with so many reminders of their childhood around him, it was no longer possible to fool himself that Fred was still alive, as he had managed to do subconsciously at least some of the time in Romania. But he did have his family around him, and somehow that made the reality of Fred's death easier to face, if not yet to accept.

On his last visit, just before Bill's birthday, he had finally plucked up courage to go to the graveyard. He had not been there since the funeral, and he knew that he had to do it if he was ever going to really believe that Fred was dead, and not playing some cruel and elaborate practical joke. He refused Bill's offer of company, and went alone. Charlie stared at the gravestone for a long time:

"_Frederick Gideon Weasley_

'_Fred'_

_1__st __April 1978-16__th_May_ 1998_

_Much-loved son of Arthur and Molly_

_Twin of George_

_Brother of Bill, Charlie, Percy, Ron and Ginny_

_Friend of many_

_A hero and a prankster_

_Always missed"_

How could that mean his brother? How could the little boy he vaguely remembered being born, who he had played with, fought with, laughed with, be dead? How could a young man on the threshold of life, with a thriving business and all the possibilities of life before him have died at the age of just twenty? It seemed impossible, yet Charlie knew he had to believe it, and somehow learn to come to terms with it. It had to be done, though right now he didn't see how.

Now, back in Romania, Charlie was fighting a daily battle with himself to remember that Fred _was _dead. It was so much easier to let his conscious mind forget it, to pretend that everything back at home was as it always had been, but he knew that was a mistake. He had to learn to accept what had happened if he was ever going to learn to live with it, and to live with himself.

But he was not going home for his birthday. A celebration at home – whether it was a meal at The Burrow or simply going out for a drink with his brothers – was more than he felt he could face right now. Fred's absence would just be too raw for him to cope with.

Not that birthdays had ever been a big deal to him anyway. Maybe it was because his was so close to Christmas (although his mother had always insisted that he have just as big a celebration as anyone else in the family, with separate presents for the two events) or whether that was just the way he was, Charlie had never been sure. He suspected the latter. He practically never remembered anyone else's birthday without being reminded about it, and would quite happily have not bothered with his own if his family would ever have let him. Bill and Percy still teased him about the year at Hogwarts when he had forgotten his birthday altogether (he was profoundly grateful that the twins were not at Hogwarts that year – they would have been even worse), but it really wasn't a big deal for him.

On the morning of Charlie's twenty-sixth birthday, there was a flurry of owls from his family and friends in England bringing cards and presents. He smiled at the _"Ron and Hermione"_on the card from his youngest brother, and decided he must be getting very old when his baby sister's card was signed _"Ginny and Harry"_, but he card from George gave him a jolt he had not expected. He had never received a birthday card just from George before, and like Bill had done a fortnight earlier, he felt it was somehow wrong.

Perhaps that was why he was not concentrating fully on his work later that morning. Charlie had worked with dragons for a long time. He knew you could not afford to take anything for granted with them, or to give them anything less than one hundred per cent of your attention, but on this occasion a large part of his mind was far away in England. He was not thinking of Fred, but of George, marvelling at the courage with which his younger brother was managing to carry on without his twin, not just continuing to run Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, but doing the little things of everyday life like remembering people's birthdays too.

"Charlie! Watch out!" His friend Idris' yell brought him back to reality just a few seconds too late. As Charlie whirled around, the Hungarian Horntail's spiked tail caught him hard, knocking him gasping to the ground. He raised his arms to protect his face, and felt them burning as the dragon turned on him. Distantly he could hear the shouts of his fellow dragon keepers as Idris, Rex, Louis and Rajiv converged on him and the Horntail with their wands in their hands. Then everything went black, and he was not aware of anything more.


	20. Charlie's birthday: II

Sorry, but Charlie's birthday is now a three-parter - and I haven't resolved the cliffhanger I left at the end of the last chapter (I know I'm mean, don't tell me).

This is a fairly pedestrian chapter of "he said this, she did that, they went there" events to get everyone into the right place for the scenes at The Burrow and in Romania (and maybe in the shop too, I haven't quite decided) that come next.

And I really don't know why I'm being so Utterly Horrible to Bill, when I'm supposed to love him!

(BTW - do you think I should write a Christmas chapter or not?)

**12****th**** December 1998**** Charlie Weasley is 26**

**II**

A deep-seated aversion to worrying his mother, together with an equally rooted hatred of being fussed over had made Charlie change the "next of kin to be notified in the event of emergency" on his work records from his parents to Bill three years earlier. So the owl from Idris arrived at Shell Cottage rather than The Burrow a couple of hours later. Bill was at work, and Fleur frowned as she looked at the unfamiliar writing on the parchment. A message from Romania not in Charlie's handwriting boded ill she was sure. She decided to open it, even though it was addressed to Bill, and bit her lip as she read the letter. _"…Charlie … Hungarian Horntail …badly injured … Ste. Karola's Hospital … please come at once. Idris Llewellyn."_ She stood for a minute, uncertain of what to do. Gringotts' security precautions meant that she could not Floo Bill at work, and an owl might take too long. Arthur and Molly would have to be notified as well, although Molly would already have some inkling that something was wrong if she had checked her clock that morning. Fleur decided that the quickest thing to do would be to Disapparate to Diagon Alley and get Bill out of work to tell him. Once he knew, they could go to Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes to Floo Arthur and Percy at work and Molly and Ginny at The Burrow so that they could decide upon a course of action between them.

Pulling on her travelling cloak, and ramming the letter from Idris Llewellyn into her pocket, Fleur Disapparated to the steps of Gringotts. She entered, and prevailed upon a reluctant goblin – who seemed to think it was beneath him to carry messages for mere humans – to ask her husband to come down from his office. Bill smiled when he saw Fleur waiting for him, but then looked at her face and realised that something was wrong.

"Fleur? What is it? What's happened?"

Fleur forced herself to speak evenly, knowing how devastated Bill would be at the thought of anything happening to Charlie. "It is Charlie, Bill. 'E is 'urt. Look."

Bill paled as he read the letter his wife handed to him. "'Badly injured' – that could mean anything," he said shakily. "But 'please come at once' doesn't sound good. Oh Merlin, Charlie! Do Mum and Dad know, Fleur?"

Fleur shook her head. "Not unless your muzzer 'as looked at 'er clock zis morning," she said. "I sought we could go to the twins' – to George's – shop and Floo zem from zere."

Bill nodded, his face grim. "Yeah, good idea. Hang on here for a minute – I'd better tell someone I'm going." He disappeared through a door marked _"Staff only" _and came back a few minutes later with his cloak over his arm. "Come on," he said, putting his arm round Fleur. "Let's get to the shop and contact Mum and Dad. Whoever's going to Romania needs to leave as soon as possible."

Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes was crowded with customers, but one look at Bill's white face told George and Ron that something was seriously wrong, so they abandoned Lee to cope single-handedly and adjourned to the tiny cubby-hole-cum-office behind the shop.

"What's up?" asked George, raising his eyebrows and glancing back over his shoulder, wondering just how long Lee would put up with being left on his own.

"It-it's Charlie." Bill spoke jerkily. "He-he's hurt. L-look." He handed George the letter, and Ron read it over his shoulder.

Ron groaned. "I thought Charlie had more sense than to turn his back on a dragon. What about Mum and Dad? Do they know?"

Bill shook his head. "Not unless Mum's looked at her clock today. We thought we could Floo them from here – I can't from work." His voice was shaking, and he was holding Fleur's hand very tightly. George looked at him with concern. He knew that Bill and Charlie were almost as close as he and Fred had been, and that Bill would be as devastated by Charlie's death as he had been by Fred's.

He gripped his older brother's arm, and tried to speak reassuringly. "He'll be okay, Bill. He has to be. Charlie wouldn't let a dragon get the better of him. Look, you and Fleur go upstairs and Floo Mum and Dad. Ron and I will deal with the customers we've actually got in the shop right now, and then close up. We can't leave Lee on his own for too long with the shop open. We'll be up in a few minutes."

By the time George and Ron joined Bill and Fleur in the flat above the shop, Molly and Arthur had been contacted and were on their way. For once, Molly had not checked her clock that morning, so she had had no idea that anything was wrong until Bill Flooed her. Fleur was in the flat's tiny kitchen making coffee when George and Ron came upstairs, and Bill was looking out of the window at the bustling crowds of shoppers below in Diagon Alley. He was wondering how they could carry on blithely with their Christmas shopping when Charlie might be … He stopped the thought abruptly, telling himself that George was right, that Charlie would be fine. He had to be…

There was a series of pops from downstairs, and the sound of voices and of feet on the stairs. Molly and Ginny entered, closely followed by Arthur and Percy. Ginny had obviously been crying. She sank onto the settee as she entered, and George sat down beside her and put his arm round her. For a wonder, she did not push him off. Arthur held out his hand to Bill for the letter, and he handed it over without saying anything. At the moment, Bill was not sure he _could _speak without breaking down. Arthur frowned as he read the letter, and then passed it to Molly, who was nearly as white-faced as Bill.

"Some of us obviously need to get out to Romania as soon as possible," said Arthur, as Fleur entered and handed round mugs of coffee. "Not all of us though, not till we know just how bad things are." They all looked round at each other.

"I'm going," said Bill abruptly, breaking the silence. Arthur nodded. He knew how close his eldest two sons were. There was no way Bill would stay at home if Charlie's life was in danger.

"How about if you and I and your mother go?" he asked. "We'll owl the rest of you as soon as we can with news." Everyone nodded, seeing the sense in this. As Arthur had said, they could not all go.

It was decided that Bill and his parents would go home to pack overnight bags, and then Bill would Apparate to The Burrow, so that the three of them could take a Portkey to Romania from there. George and Ron would re-open the shop for the afternoon – as Ron said, if they had to wait around for news it would be better if they were doing something – and Ginny would stay with them. Percy departed to send an owl to Idris Llewellyn to say that his parents and Bill were on their way. Then he would return to work at the Ministry for a few hours. Fleur was going to remain at The Burrow after her husband and parents-in-law had left, and the rest of them would join her there after work and all sleep there overnight. It would be best if all of them were together as they waited for news.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

An hour or so later, Arthur, Molly and Bill walked into the entrance hall of Ste. Karola's Wizarding Hospital in Bucharest. Two young men sitting in the corner had obviously been watching out for them, and hurried over as they entered.

"Mr. and Mrs. Weasley? Bill?" asked the shorter of the two, holding out his hand. "I'm Idris Llewellyn, this" – indicating his companion – "is Rajiv Mistry. We work with Charlie."

The three Weasleys turned anxious eyes on him. "Where's Charlie?" asked Molly, her voice trembling. "How bad is it?"

Idris shook his head. "Pretty bad, I'm afraid Mrs. Weasley," he said. "He has some bad burns, and he's still unconscious. He had a broken leg and some broken ribs too, but they've dealt with those."

"I'll find a Mediwizard to come and talk to you, and to take you to him," put in Rajiv. "They wouldn't let us in as we're not relatives, but they will you I think."

He departed, and Arthur turned back to Idris. "Tell us what happened," he said. "Please."

Idris shook his head again. "It's so unlike Charlie. He's usually so careful. He's been doing this long enough to know you have to be with dragons, particularly one like the Horntail." He sighed. "He was in the enclosure with the Horntail – we were taking measurements – and he turned his back when he'd finished. It's absolutely fundamental that you don't do that. Charlie knows that. I don't know what he was thinking of ... I shouted him, but it was too late. The dragon got him with her tail, and then she turned on him and burnt him when he fell. Thank Godric the rest of us were close enough that we could stun her between us and get Charlie out. Otherwise…" His voice tailed off.

Rajiv Mistry reappeared at that point, a blue-robed Mediwizard beside him.

"You are Mr. Veasley's relatives?" the Mediwizard asked in heavily accented English. "If you vill come vith me I vill take you to him and explain vot the situation iss."

Arthur, Molly and Bill followed the Healer along a corridor and into a small room where Charlie lay perfectly still in the bed, his heavily bandaged arms resting on the covers and a thick yellowish paste covering a burn that extended over nearly half his face.

"Oh Charlie!" Molly ran over to him, and kissed his forehead, tears raining down her cheeks. Arthur followed her, and put his arm round her shoulders. Bill stood quite still at the foot of the bed looking at his brother. He found that he had to concentrate in order to remember to breathe. Charlie – Charlie was not supposed to look like this. Not Charlie who was so full of fun and laughter, so full of life. "Like Fred was," said a tiny voice in his brain that he could not silence. "Like Fred." Bill was aware that the Mediwizard was speaking, and he hoped that his father was taking in what he was saying, as he certainly wasn't. All he could do was look at Charlie, looking so helpless and vulnerable lying there, and think that they might lose him too. Not Charlie … Please not Charlie too, please...


	21. Charlie's birthday: III

Please don't hate me, but this _still_ isn't the end of Charlie's birthday It just got too ridiculously long for only one more chapter. I could've left out the bit with Katie (sorry if you think she's too pushy - I think she has to be under the circumstances), and Ron's meltdown, but I didn't want to! 

The next bit is more or less written but not typed up yet, so I hope it will be up tomorrow or the next day.

(Edit to correct battle date...)

**12****th**** December 1998**** Charlie Weasley is 26**

**III**

Katie was not sure what to do. She knew what she would like to do, but she did not want to seem to be intruding. On the other hand, she did need to know that George was alright. Katie worked as a junior secretary at Gringotts, and she knew that a meeting had been cancelled that afternoon as Bill Weasley had had to leave because of a "family emergency". The reason she knew about it was that her friend Janey was supposed to be at the meeting, and she was overjoyed as it meant that she might get the rest of her work done that day and not incur the wrath of their boss Maghoop. To Katie however, to whom the Weasley family meant chiefly one person, it was worrying. She decided that she could legitimately pop into Weasleys' Wizard wheezes after work – she did have some Christmas presents still to buy after all, which would serve as an excuse if she needed one – and make sure that George was okay. So when they finished work for the day, Katie turned down Janey's suggestion of a quick drink at Viggo's, and headed for the joke shop.

She was relieved to see George behind the counter as usual, though a second glance showed her that he was whiter and more strained-looking than he had been for several weeks now. That might be accounted for by the fact that the seven-month anniversary of Fred's death was just days away of course – all the month anniversaries had been hard, but Katie knew this one would be worse coming so close to Christmas – the first Christmas without Fred. But then Katie caught sight of Ron, who wore the same strained look as his brother, and Ginny, who had obviously been crying. Clearly, there was something wrong, even if George himself was okay.

George smiled when he saw Katie, although she saw that the smile didn't reach his eyes. "Hi Katie," he said. "Are you buying or just visiting?"

She smiled back at him. "Visiting mainly. I wanted to make sure you were okay – they said your brother had to leave work because of an emergency, and I was worried about you."

The smile left George's face. "That's nice of you, but I'm okay. It's Charlie who isn't – he was attacked by a dragon."

Katie's eyes widened in horror. She knew Charlie – he had been the Gryffindor Quidditch captain who put her on the team when she was just a first-year – and liked him. "Oh no George," she exclaimed. "Is he badly hurt?"

George grimaced. "Sounds like it, though we don't know the details yet. Mum and Dad and Bill have gone over to Romania. We're waiting to hear from them."

Katie could see the dread in George's brown eyes, and she pulled him into a hug. "Oh George, I'm so sorry. I hope he'll be okay…"

At that moment, George felt that he would like nothing better than to collapse and cry in Katie's arms. He had been trying to keep up a brave front all afternoon for the sake of Ginny and Ron, both of whom were coping very badly with the news of Charlie's accident, and the strain of doing so on top of the constant sorrow for Fred that never left him was telling on him. Vaguely he wondered why Katie should have this effect on him, why she should be someone who he wouldn't mind seeing him cry. Anyway, there was no way he could break down in front of a shop full of customers, however much he might like to, so he swallowed hard and closed his eyes against the rising tears, pulling away from Katie and trying to get his face in order again. "So do I," he whispered, fighting to keep his voice steady. "We can't lose Charlie too, we just can't…"

Katie squeezed his hand. "He'll be okay, George, I'm sure he will."

Lee appeared at that point, a worried frown on his face. "Hi Katie," he said distractedly. "George, I think we really need to close up. Ginny just burst into tears again and disappeared upstairs, and I think Ron's not far off doing the same. You look pretty rough too," he added, putting a sympathetic hand on his friend's arm.

George blinked rapidly. Crying in front of Katie was one thing, doing so in front of Lee was quite another. "What's the time?" he managed to get out in a relatively normal tone of voice.

"Quarter to six," replied Lee. "If we close now it'll only be an hour or so early. You three really don't need to be here right now…"

George nodded, realising that his friend was right. "Okay," he said slowly. "Put up the 'Closed' sign and lock the door. I'll admit defeat."

Lee squeezed George's arm, and turned away to start the business of closing the shop for the day, leaving George and Katie alone for a minute.

George turned to Katie, suddenly realising that the last thing he wanted was for her to leave. "Katie, I.." he began, but they were interrupted by one of the remaining customers coming to pay for his purchases.

Katie stood on tiptoe and kissed George on the cheek – he was several inches taller than she was – and gave him a brief hug. "I'll see you soon," she murmured. "Let me know about Charlie." Then she was gone, and George shook himself inwardly and turned to deal with the customer.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

By the time George, Ron and Ginny arrived back at The Burrow, Percy was already there. He and Fleur were sitting at the kitchen table drinking coffee.

"Any news?" asked Ron tensely as the three of them came in through the back door.

Fleur shook her head. "Nossing," she said. "But we would 'ave 'eard if-if…" Involuntarily, all five of them looked at the clock on the wall. Charlie's hand remained stationary at "Mortal peril".

Fleur sighed and stood up. "I will make some dinner. We 'ave to eat I suppose."

"I'm going to get Pig and send a message to Hermione and Harry," said Ron abruptly. "They're practically members of this family; they have a right to know what's happened." He looked round at the others almost challengingly, as if expecting someone to object, but no one did.

They had nearly finished dinner, when an owl appeared at the kitchen window. All of them stood up, and Percy, who was nearest, wrenched the window open and detached the letter from the owl's leg with shaking hands. _"Dear Percy, George, Ron, Ginny and Fleur," _he read out loud. _Charlie is very ill, but still alive. He has bad burns to his arms and face and is still unconscious. The Mediwizards are doing all that they can, but they don't know when – or if – he will come round. We will let you know as soon as we have any other news. Look after each other. Love, Dad."_

There was silence as Percy finished reading, and they all looked at each other. Then Ron turned on his heel and walked rapidly out of the kitchen, his head down in an attempt to hide the tears running down his face. Ginny burst into sobs and fell into George's arms, and he held her close, hiding his own tears in her hair. Percy sat abruptly back down at the table, burying his face in his hands, and Fleur, her lovely face streaked with tears, began mechanically to clear the table. It was clear that no one was going to eat anything more now.

That seemed like a very long evening. By the time the others came into the living room, Ron had stopped crying, although his eyes were still very red, and he seemed incapable of saying anything to anyone. The five of them made desultory attempts at reading or at conversation, but none of them were able to concentrate on anything for more than a few minutes. Periodically, someone would mutter an excuse and go into the kitchen to check the clock. Charlie's hand remained stubbornly unmoving. At about midnight, they decided by unspoken consent that they could not bear to sit there waiting any longer, and they went to bed. Whether any of them would sleep at all was another matter.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Ron came into the kitchen the following morning to find Fleur looking at a piece of parchment that had just arrived by owl.

"Is there news?" he asked quickly.

Fleur shook her head. "Not really," she said sadly, handing the parchment to him. "Eet is from Bill. Eet just says 'No change'"

Ron stared at the note from his brother for a few seconds as if willing it to say something different, and then groaned and discarded it on the table. Fleur had her back to him, making coffee and toast, but Ron could see her shoulders were shaking with silent sobs. Suddenly all the anxiety of the last twenty-four hours seemed to explode inside him, and he had to take it out on someone.

"I don't know why _you're_ crying," he said harshly. "Charlie's not _your_ brother." He was unaware that Percy, George and Ginny had entered the kitchen until he heard Percy's shocked cry of "Ron!" and felt Ginny's hand on his arm. He shook it off angrily, as Fleur turned to face him.

"Charlie may not be my bruzzer, but zat does not mean zat I do not love 'im," she hissed angrily. "And I love Bill, and I know what eet will do to 'im if Charlie- if Charlie…" her voice tailed off as she began to cry again.

Ron did not seem able to stop himself. "Oh, I wondered when that was coming," he shouted, his voice heavy with sarcasm. "All I've heard for the last six months is how much worse Fred's death is for George than for anyone else, and now we get how much worse it will be for Bill than for the rest of us if anything happens to Charlie. Fred and Charlie are my brothers too, for Godric's sake!"

There was an instant's shocked silence, and then Fleur threw the mug she was holding onto the floor, where it shattered into pieces, shouted something incomprehensible in French at Ron, and then groped her way to the table where she sat sobbing with her head buried in her arms. Ginny went over to her, and put her arm round her shoulders.

Percy and George both rounded on Ron angrily. "Ron, no one's saying …" began Percy, but was interrupted by George.

"Is that seriously what you've been thinking for the last six months?" he yelled at Ron incredulously. "That I think no one else can mourn for Fred because he was _my _twin, because it must be worse for me? Merlin, Ron, it's not a fucking competition about who's hurting the most!"

Ron stood staring at his brother for a few seconds, his mouth open, and then whirled around and left the kitchen rapidly. They could hear his feet on the stairs all the way up to his room at the top of the house.

Fleur was still sobbing, and seemed to have totally lost her command of English, as she was choking out something in French that none of the others could understand. Percy walked across the kitchen pulling out his wand, muttered "Reparo" at the pieces of broken china scattered on the floor, and began to make coffee. George seemed to be frozen where he stood, unable to say or do anything. Ginny shot him a concerned look, but was unable to go to him as Fleur, who was sobbing almost hysterically now, was taking up most of her attention.

George pulled himself together with a visible effort. "I'm going to work," he said abruptly. "If Ron comes down, tell him I don't want him in the shop today." He walked across the kitchen and out of the back door, and they heard him Disapparate in the yard.


	22. Charlie's birthday: IV

**Finally, finally** I'm going to tell you about Charlie!

Maz dear, you won't want to read the second to last bit as it has Bill being what you call "wimpy" in it again. Skip that and cut to the end... (How did I manage to have a daughter who dislikes Bill?)

Christmas is next, but might be a few days, as I have writer's block for the first scene.

**12****th**** December 1998**** Charlie Weasley is 26**

**IV**

At about the same time as the argument was going on at The Burrow, Arthur and Molly entered Charlie's room in the Romanian hospital to find Bill dozing in the chair beside the bed, his hand still holding Charlie's unmoving one. He had been there all night, but had persuaded his parents to go to the hotel room Idris Llewellyn had booked for them and get some sleep. Molly blinked back fresh tears at the sight, even as Bill roused and looked at his mother and father.

"Any change?" asked Arthur quietly, and Bill shook his head.

"No. The Healers came in an hour or so back and said things were much the same. I sent an owl home to let them know."

Arthur put a hand on his eldest son's shoulder. "Go and get some rest, Bill," he said gently. "Mum and I will stay with Charlie now. We'll let you know if anything happens."

Bill nodded reluctantly and got to his feet. "See you later, Charlie," he said, squeezing his brother's unresponsive hand. He kissed his mother, and left the room, looking back over his shoulder at the still figure in the bed.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

If any of the Weasleys had ever lived through a longer day, none of them remembered it. Percy Flooed the Ministry to say he would not be in to work – leaving Fleur, Ron and Ginny alone at The Burrow did not seem like a good idea to him. Ginny persuaded Fleur to go and lie down for a while, and Fleur, whose head was aching badly, agreed.

Percy and Ginny spent most of the morning de-gnoming the garden, both as something to do and because throwing grumbling gnomes as far as they could provided some sort of outlet for their feelings. Ron did not emerge from his room. Both Percy and Ginny knocked on his door several times during the course of the morning to persuade him to come out or at least to talk to them, but every attempt was met either with a stony silence or a growled: "Go away."

At the shop, George was trying with limited success to forget about Charlie and the events of the morning by concentrating on work. Lee regarded his friend's pale face, set mouth and hard eyes with concern, but with a pre-Christmas rush of customers and only two of them in the shop to deal with them, had no opportunity to speak to George about anything that was not work-related.

In Romania, Molly and Arthur sat by Charlie's bed, sometimes talking and sometimes silent, hoping desperately for some sign of returning consciousness in their son, but none came. Bill joined them again early in the afternoon, having had a few hours sleep, unable to keep away from his brother's bedside for long. Charlie lay as unmoving as ever, and to his parents' and Bill's worried eyes the Mediwizards' faces seemed graver every time they came to check on him.

Back at The Burrow, Fleur had emerged from her room for lunch, which she, Percy and Ginny ate around the kitchen table in almost total silence, none of them at all aware of what they were eating. The tray of food which Percy left outside Ron's bedroom door was untouched when he went upstairs a couple of hours later, and there was no response from Ron when he knocked on the door. Ginny, going up half an hour later, had an equal lack of success.

"I don't like it," she said to Percy, coming downstairs with a worried frown on her face. "It's not like Ron to be so quiet. If he'd just yell at us and throw things, at least it'd be normal."

"Yeah," Percy nodded. "How about if we owl Harry and Hermione and see if they can come home today? It's only a couple of days till the end of term, and one of them might be able to get through to him." Ginny agreed that was a good idea, and Percy dispatched Hermes to Hogwarts with the message.

Somehow, the afternoon dragged by. Ron remained in his room; the other three wandered aimlessly around the house and garden, checking the clock periodically, and trying to find something to distract them for a few minutes. An owl from Romania at about six o'clock brought no reassurance, merely saying that Charlie's condition remained unchanged. An hour later, Harry and Hermione Apparated in the yard, both looking tense and anxious. Ginny ran out and hugged them both, smiling for the first time that day. She gave them a rapid summary of the argument that morning, and Hermione went upstairs to Ron's room. The others took the fact that she did not reappear straightaway as a good sign.

Percy and Fleur were in the kitchen preparing dinner. Both of them were beginning to get edgy about George's non-appearance. It was well after seven o'clock, when the shop had been closing lately, and his hand on the clock was still pointing to "work". Percy and Fleur were concerned that what Ron had said that morning had upset George enough to make him decide to stay at the flat overnight, and leaving him alone at the moment did not feel right to either of them.

Eventually, Percy sighed and put down the pile of plates he was carrying. "I'm going to the shop," he said to Fleur, who nodded. "Dad told us to look after each other, and letting George mope at the shop on his own isn't doing that." He went out, and Fleur heard the crack as he Disapparated.

Ginny and Harry came in at that point, hand in hand. "Where did Percy go?" asked Ginny.

"To ze shop to find George," replied Fleur. "'E should 'ave been back by now, but…"

"But he doesn't want to have to talk to Ron," Ginny finished for her, scowling blackly. "Or I wouldn't if I was him. Ron is an idiot. I hope Hermione can talk some sense into him. He owes you an apology too, Fleur."

Fleur gave a very Gallic shrug. "Oh, zat does not matter. 'E was upset, and 'e took it out on me because I was 'ere, but what 'e said about Fred and George was just 'orreeble. I am not surprised zat George was upset."

There didn't seem to be anything more to say, and the three of them subsided into silence. Ginny found her eyes drawn to her mother's clock, but Charlie's hand had not moved. "I hate that bloody clock," she muttered under her breath, but Harry heard her and squeezed her hand sympathetically.

The kitchen door opened, and Hermione entered, followed by Ron, who was very white and looking shamefaced. "Fleur, I'm sorry for what I said this morning," he said very fast, as if he wanted to get it over with.

"Zat is okay," she said, giving him a small smile. "You might find it 'arder to make up with George zo."

Ron groaned, and flung himself into a seat at the table. "Yeah, I know," he said miserably. "Where is he anyway?"

"Still at the shop," replied Ginny, frowning at her brother. "Percy's gone to fetch him. You are an idiot, Ron. That was a horrible thing to say, and no one needs it right now, least of all George."

Ron groaned again. "I know, I know, you don't need to rub it in," he muttered.

There was a double crack in the yard, and Percy and George walked in. George was whiter-faced even than Ron and had clearly been crying.

Ron stood up as his brothers entered. "George, I…" he began, but George cut him short.

"Save it, Ron," he growled. "I really don't want to hear it right now, okay?"

Ron subsided back into his chair, biting his lip. The rest of them looked at each other helplessly.

That was another very long evening. Neither Ron nor George said a word to anyone, and the others managed only a minimum of conversation. They were all very glad when it was late enough to justify going to bed.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

At four o'clock the following morning, Bill was looking out of the window of Charlie's hospital room at the dark and rain-lashed streets of Bucharest. His parents had left to get some sleep a couple of hours earlier, leaving him alone with Charlie. He had talked himself nearly hoarse since they had left, with reminiscences of their childhood, hoping that something – anything – would get through to Charlie and make him wake up, but with no effect.

Bill's head ached and his scars were becoming increasingly painful. He was uncomfortably aware that the full moon was barely thirty six hours away, and that he would have to make some excuse to go home, however Charlie was, if he did not want his parents to find out just how badly it affected him. He was engrossed in his thoughts, unaware of his brother for perhaps the first time since reading Idris' message on the morning of Charlie's birthday. He jumped and gasped as a hoarse voice behind him whispered: "Bill?"

Bill turned and crossed the room in two strides, dropping down to sit on the bed beside his brother. "Charlie?" he gasped. "Oh Charlie!" He was unable to say any more, aware only that Charlie's eyes were open, that he was half-smiling at him, and that his bandaged hands were gripping Bill's own. "Oh Merlin, Charlie!" he managed to croak at last. "Do you know how much you scared us? We thought – we thought we were going to lose you too." His voice cracked and he swallowed.

Charlie started to shake his head, but stopped and winced as he realised how painful moving was. "Nah," he whispered. "You should've known I wouldn't let a dragon beat me."

Bill managed to smile. "That's what George said on Tuesday before we came. He said you wouldn't let a dragon get the better of you."

"Well, he was right," said Charlie, also smiling. "Hang on – on _Tuesday_? What day is it now then?"

"Thursday – Thursday morning, just about," replied Bill. "Honestly, Charlie, I know you're not keen on birthdays, but this was a pretty extreme way of getting out of yours."

Charlie produced a ghost of his old grin. "Yeah, I guess…" he murmured. Suddenly, he frowned, and Bill felt Charlie's hands gripping his own harder. "Godric, Bill – Idris and the others – no one else was hurt because of my idiocy were they?"

Bill hastened to reassure him. "No, they're all fine," he said. "I gather they stunned the Horntail before they got you out. Your friend Idris said you turned your back on it. What were you thinking of Charlie? You know better than that."

"George," muttered Charlie, and Bill frowned.

"What?" he said. "I'm Bill, remember?"

Charlie chuckled and then winced again. "No, you idiot," he said. "I mean I was thinking about George. How he does it. How he gets on with living without Fred. He sent me a card and it made me wonder how he manages to bother about little things like that. I mean, Fred's death is hard enough for the rest of us. I don't want to imagine what it must be like for him. How does he do it?"

Bill shook his head. "Godric only knows. When-when I-I thought I might l-lose you…" He stopped for a moment, unable to continue. "Well, it was j-just awful thinking about it. How it must feel for George without Fred… You're right, I don't want to imagine how bad he must feel. I don't know how he gets out of bed in the morning, let alone anything else, but he does. He's a brave man, our little brother."

"Yeah, you're right, he is," said Charlie quietly. There was a brief silence between them, and then Charlie asked: "Did I imagine it, or were Mum and Dad here earlier?"

Bill nodded. "Yeah, they were. They went to get some sleep. You mean you could hear us?"

"Sort of," said Charlie. "Like in the background. I couldn't have done anything about it earlier though. I tried, but I couldn't wake up then. Sorry."

Bill smiled. "I'll let you off this once," he said. "But I should go and let Mum and Dad know you're awake. And send an owl home."

Charlie groaned. "Must you? Mum'll only cry over me."

Bill laughed. "Of course she will. That's what Mum does. And it damn well serves you right for frightening us all so much." He squeezed one of Charlie's bandaged hands gently. "I'll be ten minutes. Don't go away again when I'm gone, will you?" He was still smiling, but Charlie knew him well enough to hear the genuine fear behind his words.

"Don't worry," he murmured. "You're stuck with me again now. I'm not going anywhere."

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Bill's owl arrived at The Burrow an hour or so later. No one was up yet, and the owl pecked at several windows before getting a response. It was Percy who eventually heard it, and he jumped out of bed at once, opening the window with shaking hands, and pulling the owl inside so he could detach the parchment from its leg. He looked at the clock in his room, and realised that an owl at this time of the morning must mean real news, whether good or ill. There was no way that he could bear to open the message on his own, so he pulled on his dressing gown and went out onto the landing, calling out the others' names. None of them were sleeping very deeply, and within a couple of minutes they were all assembled, with dressing gowns hastily pulled on over pyjamas and all looking tousled and sleepy, apart from Fleur, who somehow managed to look as unruffled as usual.

"What's going on?" asked Ron, carefully avoiding looking at George, who was just as obviously avoiding meeting his eyes.

"An owl," said Percy huskily, holding out the parchment, but making no attempt to open it.

"Open it then, Perce, for Merlin's sake," implored George impatiently, but Percy shook his head.

"It's Bill's writing," he muttered, thrusting the parchment at his sister-in-law.

Fleur took a step back, and put her hands behind her back. "Mon Dieu, zhust open ze bloodee sing, Percy," she said, but he still hesitated.

After several seconds during which they all looked at each other and at the parchment held out in Percy's trembling hand, Harry grabbed it and slit it open, deciding that no one else was going to take the initiative. _"Dear Everyone,"_ he read, his voice shaking despite his best efforts to control it. _"Charlie came round a few minutes ago. He's going to be okay. Love, Bill."_

There was silence for a few heartbeats as they all digested the news, and then Ginny laughed and hugged Percy, who happened to be next to her. That seemed to break the spell, and suddenly all seven of them were laughing and crying and hugging each other.

It was a few minutes before any of them were capable of anything approaching normal speech, but finally George managed to say, "See, I _said _Charlie wouldn't let a dragon get the better of him!"

Ron laughed. "Yeah, sure you did – and you haven't been worried at all over the last two days, have you?"

George laughed too. "No, of course I haven't, not at all," he said, grinning at his brother. "You must've been imagining things Ron!" Then the two of them found themselves hugging, without either of them being quite clear just how that had happened, forgetting in their relief that they had been at loggerheads only a few hours earlier.

"Can we take it that you two are talking to each other again now, then?" asked Ginny, with a very creditable attempt at a tone of detached interest.

George grinned at her, so did Ron. "Looks like it, doesn't it?" laughed Ron. "Is it too early for breakfast? I'm starving!"


	23. Charlie's birthday: A postscript

Not Christmas yet! I decided this was more appropriate as an afterthought to Charlie's birthday. 

I wan't sure about this chapter, but I thought I needed it to get Bill home, and in view of the hints about his partial lycanthropy (I love that word!) in previous chapters.

Very Bill-centric - ignore it, Maz!

(Guess what - next chapter won't be Christmas either...)

(Edit to correct battle date.)

**Charlie's Birthday - a Postscript**

**15****th**** December 1998 Bucharest**

Arthur knocked on his eldest son's hotel room door. This was not a conversation that he was looking forward to, but one that he knew he could not avoid. Bill had been lying on the bed, but stood up as his father came in. He looked pale, and there were dark shadows under his eyes. Of course, with his concern about Charlie, he had had very little sleep over the past few days, but Arthur had a strong feeling that there was more to it than that.

"I need to talk to you, Bill," he said, deciding that there was no point in beating about the bush. "Are we right in thinking that you need to go home today? Before nightfall?"

Bill looked sharply at his father and sucked in a long breath. He had been putting off telling his parents that he needed to go home because he simply could not think of an excuse that would satisfy them. Now it seemed that they knew more than he had realised, and that they would not have fallen for his excuses anyway.

"How-how did you know?" His voice was shaking. "Fleur didn't…?"

"Fleur hasn't told us anything," Arthur hastened to assure him. "Did you really think she would if you didn't want her to? We guessed, Bill. Well, your mother did. You know what she's like for worrying. There were some times last year and earlier this year when you seemed to disappear for a day or two, and others when you definitely looked ill but insisted you weren't. Mum checked with the moon calendar, and…"

"Worked things out," groaned Bill. "Trust Mum. I really didn't want anyone to know…" He turned away from his father, walked over to the window and looked out. He could not handle the sympathy and concern in the older man's eyes right now.

"How bad is it son?" asked Arthur gently. "I take it Remus was right, and you're not a true werewolf?"

"Yeah, he was right," said Bill quietly. "I guess I should be grateful for that, but…" He shuddered violently, and Arthur put a hand on his shoulder. Bill let out a long sigh and put one of his hands up to cover his father's, although he still kept his face resolutely turned away from him. "It-it's pretty awful," he said, in a voice that shook despite his best efforts to control it. "It's like – It's like I'm not myself, though part of me still is and knows enough to know it's not right. It scares me… I'm not in control any more. I-I can't bear anyone to touch me, I can't keep still – sometimes I can't even stand to stay in the house. And it hurts – it hurts like hell, though I could handle that if that was all there was. I hate it, Dad, I hate it. It frightens me." He was crying now, and turned to face his father, who pulled him close.

"Oh, Bill," he murmured, as Bill cried into his shoulder. "Oh, Bill. Why didn't you tell us? Why didn't you say something? Does anyone else know?"

Bill shook his head, struggling to control himself. "Remus and Tonks did, but … Fleur's been trying to persuade me to tell Charlie for months, but I wouldn't. Too bloody proud, I guess…" He stopped, and took a deep breath. "Fleur's amazing, Dad – how she puts up with me, how she copes on those nights. It's harder for her than for me I think, but she doesn't complain, doesn't blame me."

"Oh, Bill," said Arthur, his voice shaking too. "Why should she blame you? It's not your fault. I'm so sorry, Bill, so sorry. If we hadn't joined the Order…"

"Don't be stupid, Dad," said Bill harshly, pulling away and looking at his father. "How could you not join the order once you knew V-Voldemort was back? How could any of us not have done our bit against him? Anyway, even if you and Mum hadn't joined, I still would've done. I was there when Harry came out of the maze with Cedric's body, remember. It wasn't anyone's fault Greyback attacked me. Things like that happen in wars. Like Fred dying. We just have to learn to live with the consequences somehow."

Arthur nodded sadly, knowing that his son was right. He wondered if any of them would have resisted joining the Order, fighting Voldemort if they had known just what it would cost them – George his ear; Bill his looks, and his sanity one night a month; Fred his life. Bill clearly felt he would have acted the same way anyway. Arthur wondered whether Fred would, or Molly, or George, or he himself. There was no way of knowing of course; there were too may imponderables, too many "what if's?"

Arthur pulled Bill close again. "We need to sort out about getting you home," he said. "I assume you want to go to Shell Cottage, not The Burrow?"

Bill nodded. "Yeah. I don't want the kids to know. Charlie maybe, but not the others."

"Okay," said his father. "I'll speak to Idris about arranging a Portkey for you. Are you going to owl Fleur?"

Bill nodded. They were both more comfortable now they were talking about practical matters.

Arthur sighed. "I wish one of us could come with you, especially with tomorrow being seven months since Fred died. I think George is going to find it even harder than six months was, because of Charlie having been hurt and it being so close to Christmas. But we can't leave Charlie, and the Healers say it'll be next week before he's well enough to be transferred to St. Mungo's."

"I'll be okay, Dad, really," said Bill, who had managed to pull himself together now. "It's horrible, but Fleur and I are used to it. We can handle it, honestly we can – we don't have a choice. And I'll be there to keep an eye on the others – especially George – tomorrow."

His father smiled briefly. "Yeah. If any of them ask, you can use that as your excuse for coming home. What about Charlie? Are you going to tell him?"

"Yeah, "said Bill slowly. "If you and Mum know, I'd like him to as well. I don't want him to think I'm running out on him. I'll talk to him before I go."

Arthur gave his son a hug, and then left in search of Idris Llewellyn, leaving Bill to write a note to his wife. Bill sat for a long time before starting to write, going over the conversation in his mind. Perhaps things would be easier to bear now his parents knew… He wrote the note, and went in search of an owl, before heading to Charlie's hospital room to say goodbye.


	24. Christmas is coming: I

This is shortish, but I'm not going to get the second half finished for a day or two. A bit angsty, but the next one is worse. Christmas will be mostly happy, I promise!

Reviews - as always - are much appreciated.

Having just re-read DH, I've realised the battle of Hogwarts should be in May, not June as I'd assumed. That mucks up my "6 months after" of course! So I've re-written bits with the date in as much as I can (I've made the battle the 16th of May not June - it still has to be the 16th!). I realise it's not ideal, but I can't move this, because of the references to Charlie's birthday, Christmas etc. If I wasn't a bloody perfectionist, I'd've left it alone, but it would have annoyed me too much! Hope this still makes sense. (A few earlier chapters have minor alterations too.)

Yet another addition - some justification for seven months being worse than six - following a suggestion by Cassandra's Cross. (thanks!)

**Christmas is coming - 16th December 1998**

**I. Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes**

Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes was crowded with customers, which was hardly surprising on a Saturday less than two weeks before Christmas. George wished they would all go away. He wanted to scream and shout, he realised. He wanted to tell them all what today was – that it was seven months since the Battle of Hogwarts when so many people had died for their freedom. Did any of them realise? Would they care if they did? He didn't know why seven months should seem so much harder than six had done, but for some reason it did. Perhaps that stuff about seven being a truly magical number had something to do with it. Whatever it was, he knew that the fact that today was seven months since Fred had died was almost impossible to cope with. He wanted to shout at the shop full of people: "Look, this place is Fred's as well as mine! He should be here, it's not right that he isn't! And you don't even fucking mind that he isn't as long as you get your shopping done!" He wanted to sob and cry and break things. Most of all, he wanted to see Fred. He couldn't do that, of course. And he didn't do any of the other things either. He continued to serve customers, demonstrate products, restock shelves – all the things a responsible shop-owner does on a busy Saturday before Christmas. And if the people he spoke to noticed that his smile never reached his eyes, none of them commented on it. And if any of them recognised him as the man who had lost his twin in the Battle, no one said anything about that either. Lee and Ron were fully occupied as well, and George was too lost in his own thoughts to see the anxious looks both of them were periodically directing at him.

Harry and Ginny had disappeared off down Diagon Alley, saying they were going Christmas shopping. Percy and Hermione were upstairs, going through the shop's books. Percy had quietly taken them over following George's breakdown in September, brooking no argument from George, who was grateful despite his initial misgivings about it. Balancing the books was not one of George's strong points, though Fred had been okay at it, and Percy was good at it.

The shop door opened yet again, and Angelina, Alicia and Katie came in. George saw the way Lee's eyes lit up at the sight of Angelina, unaware that he himself was reacting in a similar way to Katie, a fact that was not lost on Angelina and Alicia. Katie came behind the counter – ignoring the look that at least one irate customer in the queue was giving her – and hugged George.

"Hi," he said, smiling at her.

"Hi yourself," she smiled back. ""Thanks for letting me know about Charlie. I'm so glad he's going to be okay."

"Yeah, me too. We all are," replied George, turning back to the queue and beginning to ring up purchases on the till.

Katie scrabbled under the counter for paper bags, and began to wrap things up for him. "Will you get a break later, or are you all stuck here for the day?" she asked.

"Two galleons, four sickles," George said, smiling at the slightly impatient customer in front of him, trying to remember that he had a job to do. "Dunno," he said to Katie, once the purchaser had gone. "We might get half an hour or so each later on if we can rope in Harry and Ginny to help once they get back from shopping. Percy and Hermione are upstairs, but I don't think either of them are cut out to work in a joke shop."

Katie giggled. "No, I don't think they are."

George turned to serve the next customer, and Katie slipped out from behind the counter and went over to help a harassed-looking witch with three small boys in tow, all of whom were clamouring for something to spend their pocket money on. Katie steered them deftly over to a display of joke wands, and George raised his eyebrows as he watched her. Hermione and Percy might not be joke shop material, but it looked like Katie could be – her talents were wasted at Gringotts.

The door opened again, and Katie saw George's face stiffen in shock as he saw who had come in. Following his gaze, Katie saw Parvati and Padma Patil, laughing and chattering together, completely unaware of the effect they were having on George. She looked at George anxiously. He was continuing to serve the customer in front of him mechanically, but his face was white, and Katie could see him biting his lip and blinking hard. She knew she had to move fast if she was going to prevent George from breaking down in front of a shop full of people.

She walked rapidly back behind the counter and put a hand on George's back. "Just go," she whispered, pushing him gently away from the till. "I'll do this. Go." George gave her a look of pure gratitude, before bolting out of the door to lose himself in the crowds thronging Diagon Alley.

George was barely able to see through the tears clouding his vision, unable to hear anything above the screaming for Fred in his head. He pushed his way through the crowds, not knowing where he was going, conscious with a small part of his brain that he wanted more than anything to find somewhere quiet and alone where he could cry out his longing for his twin, and scream at the _bastard _for doing this to him, for leaving him alone when he needed him so much. There was an oasis of relative calm outside Florean Fortescue's old shop, which was still boarded up. George twisted on the spot and Disapparated to the one place he needed to be right now, the place he both loved and hated, the only place he could feel he was alone with Fred.


	25. Christmas is coming: II

Short and far from sweet. Sorry to upload this in bits, but there's this awkward thing called real life that gets in the way. Hope the next part will be up tomorrow. 

Thanks for all your reviews. They are much appreciated.

**Christmas is coming - 16****th**** December 1998**

**II The Graveyard, Ottery St. Catchpole**

George Apparated near the gates of the graveyard. He had been aiming for Fred's grave, but with the state he was in a few yards off was pretty good. It was a wonder he hadn't Splinched himself. Good thing he had always been good at Apparition. (He had been top of the class, even beating Fred into second place.)

George walked rapidly and instinctively through the graveyard until he reached the place he needed to be, the place he both feared and dreaded, but somehow the place where he felt nearer to Fred than any other. Weird how that should be – this quiet dark place, that Fred had probably only set foot in once or twice in his life – it should have been their room, or the shop, not here. Sure Fred's body was here, but George knew that that was not Fred. Whatever Fred really was was somewhere else. Somewhere where George could not reach him.

He fell to his knees on the grave, resting his forehead on the cold stone which bore his brother's name. "I want you back, Fred," he sobbed. "I want you back. I _hate_ you for doing this to me, and I don't want to hate you. How could you leave me? How could you? We're supposed to be twins. We're supposed to do things together. Did you forget that you bastard, or what?" Suddenly he was so angry, he could not contain it. He beat his fists hard against the unresisting stone, punching it until his knuckles bled, until he felt a bone in his hand break, screaming his brother's name, shouting at him that he hated him for going, that it was unfair, that he had to come back, that he couldn't do this to him. And getting no response. Fred was gone. Wherever he was now, George could not reach him.

George had never felt more alone in his life. Gasping and sobbing, he fell down onto the grave, curling himself into a ball, cradling his injured hand, oblivious to the cold wind and to the rain which had started to fall.


	26. Christmas is coming: III

Another "joining things up" chapter. I wasn't sure whether to have the Patil twins find out the effect they'd had on George, but MBP said it would be interesting to find out, so I did it. 

George is next...

Reviews are good, and I love them...

(More date change edits!)

**Christmas is coming - 16****th**** December 1998**

**III Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes**

Back at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, Katie finished serving George's customer and a couple of others, before slipping out from behind the counter to consult with Ron and Lee, neither of whom were yet aware of the reason for George's abrupt exit, if indeed they had even noticed him go. Katie thought she had done the right thing in letting George escape before he broke down, but she was more than concerned about the idea of leaving him alone for any length of time in his current frame of mind.

Parvati and Padma were still in the shop, giggling over the range of lurid pink Wonder Witch products. Katie felt that she could cheerfully have strangled the pair of them. Instead, she gave them a preoccupied smile as she passed, and grabbed Ron, who was restocking a shelf with Patented Daydream Charms in the back room of the shop.

Ron frowned when he heard what Katie had to say. "And he didn't say where he was going?" he queried.

Katie shook her head. "Of course not. He wasn't capable of saying anything at that point. But we ought to find him, Ron. He shouldn't be on his own right now."

"Yeah, you're right," said Ron slowly. "We shouldn't shut the shop if we can help it though."

"George is more important than the bloody shop," Katie pointed out, somewhat irritably.

"Yeah, of course he is," Ron agreed. "And if we have to, we will close. But if George was in any state to realise what was going on, he's hate the idea of shutting on a Saturday so close to Christmas. Percy and Hermione are upstairs, and Harry and Ginny should be back from shopping soon. There's you and Lee and Angelina and Alicia too – between us we ought to be able to run the shop _and_ look for George. We should get hold of Bill and Fleur too."

Katie frowned. "I thought Bill was in Romania?"

Ron shook his head. "No, he came back yesterday."

Angelina appeared through the door from the front of the shop at that point, looking agitated. "Lee says why the hell is he the only person serving customers round here?" she reported. "And where's George gone?"

Ron gave her a rapid précis of what had happened, and Angelina looked serious. "Alicia's not here any more," she said. "Oliver turned up, and they went off somewhere together. But Harry and Ginny just came in."

The three of them looked at each other, and then Ron took charge. "Katie, can you serve in here?" he asked. "Ange, go and tell Lee what's happened and then hang around to help. I'll grab Harry and Ginny and tell them and Percy and Hermione what's going on. If three or four of us stay in the shop, everyone else can look. Okay?" Katie and Angelina nodded.

Katie turned to serve the Patil twins, as Ron and Angelina departed into the front part of the shop.

"What are you all looking so serious about?" asked Padma. "And where did George go to in such a hurry?"

Katie glared at her. If she was going to be so bloody inquisitive, she would get an answer she probably wouldn't like. "We're worried because George walked out because he was upset," she said, glaring at the twins in a way that they didn't actually deserve. "And the _reason_ he got so upset is because he really didn't need to see you two, today of all days."

"What?" said Parvati uncomprehendingly, while Padma gaped at Katie.

Katie tried to keep the exasperation our of her voice. "It's seven months to the day since the Battle. Seven months exactly since Fred died. And you two walk in here. Together. Laughing. Having what George had … What he's lost …" She stopped, choking back tears, and the Patils looked at her with identical stunned expressions on their faces.

"Oh Merlin, Katie," whispered Parvati. "I'm so sorry, we didn't realise…" She looked so upset at the hurt that she and Padma had unwittingly caused George, that Katie could not continue to be angry.

"It's not your fault, you can't help being twins," she muttered, swallowing her tears. "You didn't know, and I think something was probably going to set George off today anyway. It just happened to be you two. Sorry for going off at you like that, but…"

"But you're worried about him," Parvati finished for her. "S'okay Katie. We wouldn't've come in here today if we'd realised how hard it would be for George. I'm sorry…"

"It's okay," said Katie miserably, beginning to ring up the Patils' purchases on the till.

Ron, Hermione, Harry and Ginny clattered down the stairs from the flat above as Katie finished serving the twins.

"We're going to see if we can find George in Diagon Alley," Ron told her. "If you're okay to stay here and help Lee and Angelina? Percy's Flooing Bill and Fleur, and they'll check The Burrow and the graveyard between them."

Katie nodded. She wished she could be one of those looking for George, instead of being left behind to mind the shop, but she knew she didn't have the right to ask that. Percy, Ron and Ginny were family, and Harry and Hermione practically were. As far as any of them – except just possibly Ron – were concerned, she was nothing more than George's friend. She put the thought that she would like to be a lot more firmly out of her mind. George needed his friends right now, and if all she could do for him as a friend was to help look after his shop, then that's what she would do.

"Sure," she said to Ron. "That's fine."


	27. Christmas is coming: IV

Pretty long, I'm afraid, and poor George is still in a state. I'm not sure if they way I've written it, with his thoughts interspersed works or not. 

Bear with me, I've had a rough couple of days..

Things really will get better in the next chapter, I promise.

**Christmas is coming - 16****th**** December 1998**

**IV**

**The Graveyard, Ottery St. Catchpole**

_It's cold and wet, but I don't feel it. My hands hurt, but I won't feel that either. If I don't feel anything it won't matter, it won't matter any more that Fred's … that Fred's not here. If I refuse to feel, it won't matter. It won't hurt any more._

Bill and Fleur Apparated hand in hand a few yards from Fred's grave. The previous night had been a hard one for both of them. Fleur looked pale and tired, with dark shadows under her beautiful eyes. Bill was grey-faced and exhausted, a fresh bandage on one arm where one of his scars had re-opened during the night. It was still raining and the graveyard was dark and gloomy, but George was easy enough to see, lying motionless and silent on his twin's grave, his vivid hair and lurid magenta shop robes standing out in stark contrast to the dark ground. He was so still that Bill thought for a heart stopping moment that he must be dead too.

Dropping Fleur's hand abruptly, he ran over and fell to his knees beside his brother. George stirred and gasped when he felt Bill's hand on his shoulder, but said nothing and his eyes remained firmly closed.

"George, Georgie!" said Bill, shaking his brother gently, but there was no response. Fleur knelt on George's other side and cried out in shock as she saw the blood on his knuckles and his swollen right hand. George gasped again as Fleur gently took hold of his broken hand, and pulled it away form her, but made no other acknowledgement that he was aware of their presence.

"Mon Dieu, Bill," gasped Fleur. "Zere is blood on ze gravestone. I sink 'e 'as 'it it so 'ard 'e 'as broken 'is 'and."

Bill gave her a horrified look, and shook George's shoulder again, calling out his name, but it had no effect. "What are we going to do?" he asked Fleur despairingly. His normal ability to cope in a crisis seemed to have deserted him utterly, and Fleur realised that she needed to take charge.

"We 'ave to take 'im to St. Mungo's, I sink," she said slowly. "I do not sink zat we can deal wiz zis at 'ome."

_There are voices, and hands on my shoulders. Bill sounds upset. Fleur swears in French and tried to take my hand. I won't let her. I won't hear them. I won't._

There was a crack as Percy Apparated behind them.

"You've found him!" he exclaimed, hurrying over and dropping to his knees beside Fleur. His face whitened as he saw the state of George's hands. "Godric, George," he murmured. "What have you done?" There was still no response from George, and Percy frowned. "Has he said anything?" he asked, and Bill shook his head.

"It's like he doesn't even know we're here," he said shakily. "We were going to take him to St. Mungo's."

Percy looked at his eldest brother keenly, suddenly noticing how ill Bill looked. "Are you alright, Bill? You look pretty awful."

"I'm okay," lied Bill. "Worry about George, not me, I'm fine." Percy gave him another look, but decided that there was no point in arguing. He and Bill pulled George upright between them, and they all Apparated to St. Mungo's Hospital.

_Percy's here too. He asks me what I've done. I won't tell him. If I tell him, I have to start feeling again. I won't. I will not._

_What's wrong with Bill? No. Don't. Don't think about it. If I have to care about Bill, I'll care about me, about Fred. No, I won't. I will not._

_Fred … _

_No. Don't. Don't think about him. Don't care. Don't feel. Don't. Don't._

_Fred …_

**St. Mungo's Hospital**

_Constricting darkness, then bright lights that I can see through my closed eyelids. More voices, voices I don't know. I won't hear them. They do something to my hands. They don't hurt any more, but that makes no difference. That wasn't the hurt that I care about anyway. Or that I would if I was consenting to care. But I won't. Not any more. _

Bill and Percy sat on either side of George's bed in St. Mungo's Hospital. The Healers had mended George's hands easily enough, but they had been unable to do any more to provoke a response from him than Bill, Percy and Fleur had managed in the graveyard. George lay perfectly still, his eyes closed, seemingly oblivious to where he was and to everything going on around him. The Healers had said that now his hands were mended there was nothing physically wrong with him. His apparently comatose state was a psychological response to a situation that he could not deal with. They could not say how long it would last, or what might bring him out of it, but encouraged his worried brothers to talk to him, saying that it was more than likely that he could hear what was going on around him, and that something they said might make him respond. So Bill and Percy had remained with George at the Hospital (Bill thinking somewhat wearily that he had really had enough of such places this week), talking about anything they could think of in the hope of getting through to George. Fleur had Apparated to Diagon Alley to let the others know what was happening.

_Bill and Percy are talking, but I won't hear them. They ask me to wake up, but I won't. They don't know. None of them know. None of them understand. Parvati and Padma would understand if it happened to them. But it didn't. It happened to us. To me. To Fred. To us._

_No, I won't think about it. I won't, then it won't matter, it won't be true. It won't hurt. Don't think about Fred. Just don't._

Percy was nearly as worried about his oldest brother as he was about George. Bill looked pale and ill, with dark shadows under his eyes. It was obvious too from the way he moved it that his bandaged left arm – which he insisted was nothing serious – was hurting him badly. But since Bill adamantly denied that there was anything wrong with him, Percy did not see that there was much he could do about it.

Bill broke the silence in the room, which had held since they both ran out of things to say to George a few minutes earlier. "Perce, d'you think we should tell Mum and Dad?"

Percy frowned, considering. "Yeah, I guess we should. If-if George is really ill and we didn't tell them, they'd never forgive us. But they won't want to leave Charlie will they?"

"Dunno," Bill answered. "One of them might be able to. Charlie's much better now, and they were talking about transferring him here some time next week."

"One of us ought to go over and tell them then," said Percy. "I really don't think just sending them an owl would do."

"Yeah," Bill nodded. "I'll go."

But Percy shook his head. "You're not going anywhere. You can deny there's anything wrong with you all you like, Bill, but it's pretty obvious there is something. If you don't want to tell us what it is, that's fine. Just don't try to pretend you're alright when you clearly aren't, okay? I'll go, or Ron can. You're staying here."

Bill raised his eyebrows at Percy's somewhat dictatorial tone, but realised that he did not have the energy to argue. And Percy was right. Whether he would admit it to his younger siblings or not, he really did not feel well enough to go out to Romania again right now if it could be avoided.

_They're talking about telling Mum and Dad. Don't think about that, don't think about them. Or Charlie. Just don't. _

_Don't think. Don't feel. Don't._

_Percy says Bill is ill. He said that before, in the graveyard. What's wrong with him? Don't think about Bill. No. I won't care. I won't ask. What's wrong with Bill? No. Don't. Don't think about it. If I have to care about Bill, I'll care about me, about Fred. No, I won't. I will not._

The door opened, and Fleur, Ron and Ginny came in, both Ron and Ginny looking pale and shocked. Ginny ran over, and sat beside George on the bed, taking one of his hands and stroking his hair back from his face. "Oh George," she murmured. "I wish you'd let us help you." She was crying, and the others held their breath, hoping that this little sister's tears would rouse George as nothing else had done, but he remained unmoving and silent.

_More voices. Ron and Ginny and Fleur. Ginny is crying, but I won't hear her. I won't. Don't hear. Don't care. Don't feel. Just don't._

Percy and Ron had moved over to the window and were having a low-voiced conversation. Ron nodded, and Percy turned back to the others.

"I'm going to Romania to tell Mum and Dad what's happening," he said. "Ron and Ginny can stay here with George. You two …" turning to Bill and Fleur … "ought to go home."

Bill opened his mouth to protest, but Ginny was before him. "Who put you in charge?" she asked sharply.

Percy looked at her calmly. "I did," he informed her. "Bill's not well, whether he'll admit it or not, and someone has to tell Mum and Dad what's happened. Have you got any better ideas?"

_Ginny is arguing. Why does she always argue? _

_Percy sounds like Percy-the-Prefect again, organising people. Fred would laugh at that. No. Don't. Don't think about Fred. Don't think. Don't._

Ginny cast a startled glance at Bill, realising for the first time how really awful he looked.

"Okay," she murmured. "Sorry."

Fleur had been whispering to Bill, and had obviously succeeded in persuading him that Percy was right, and they should go home, because he stood up without any protest. He, Fleur and Percy left the room, leaving Ginny and Ron alone with George.

_Ron and Ginny are still here even though it's dark. They talk to me, and Ginny cries some more. I wish she wouldn't._

_Ron sounds like he wants to cry too. Ickle Ronniekins crying. I can hear Fred laughing. No. No I can't. I won't. Don't. Don't think about Fred. Just don't. I won't think. I won't care. I won't feel._

_Fred … _

_No. Don't. Don't think about him. Don't care. Don't feel. Don't. Don't._

_Fred …_


	28. Christmas is coming: V

Sorry for the delay. 

I hope the person who finally gets through to George isn't too predictable!

Christmas is next and will be mostly happy, I promise.

**Christmas is coming - 16****th**** December 1998**

**V**

**St. Mungo's Hospital -24 hours later**

Molly Weasley sat beside George's hospital bed, holding his limp hand and talking about anything and nothing in the hope of getting through to him. She had been there since arriving back with Percy from Romania early that morning. Arthur had stayed behind with Charlie. Ron and Ginny, who had been at the hospital all night, had gone back to The Burrow to get some sleep; Percy had gone to get a cup of tea, and Bill and Fleur were still at Shell Cottage, so Molly was alone with George. She blinked back tears, sighing deeply. Going from the hospital bedside of one son to that of another was beyond hard. Charlie was definitely on the mend now, but the Romanian Mediwizards said that the burns on his arms and face would take several more weeks to heal completely. Now George seemed to be trapped in a strange sort of limbo that none of his family were able to penetrate. And Bill was ill too, according to Percy, and although Molly now knew the reason behind that, as Percy didn't, it meant he was just one more person to worry about. Thank Godric Percy himself, Ron and Ginny were alright…

_Now Mum's here. She's crying of course, on and off. But I won't hear her. Mum always cries anyway. I won't care. I won't._

_What about Charlie? Has she left him on his own or is Dad still with him? No. Don't think about Charlie. Don't. If I have to care about Charlie, I'll care about me, about Fred. _

_No, I won't. I will not. I will not let them make me feel again. It hurts. It hurts too much._

_Fred…_

Percy had been a rock over the last twenty-four hours, arriving in Romania unannounced the previous evening and breaking the news of George's collapse to his parents and Charlie as gently as he could. He had insisted that he and his mother should not return to England until this morning, recognising how exhausted she already was by several days at Charlie's bedside. Molly had reluctantly gone along with this, believing Percy's assurances that George was in good hands, and that Ron and Ginny had agreed to stay with him overnight. Ron had told her that morning how Percy had quietly taken over and organised them all on the previous day when it became apparent that Bill was in no condition to take the lead as he usually did. Molly was impressed that Percy had managed to persuade Bill – who could be remarkably stubborn on occasion – to go home and let the others look after each other for once. And she was more than grateful for Percy's steady support and presence since he had arrived in Romania.

Molly stroked George's untidy hair back from his face and squeezed his hand gently.

"Oh George," she murmured. "My poor Georgie. I know it's so hard for you, George, without Fred. But you have to let us help you. You're not on your own, George, you never will be."

George remained completely still and quiet, and his mother fell silent too, although she continued to stroke his hair and hold his hand, wondering what any of them could do or say to rouse him.

_Mum is stroking my hair, where my ear ought to be. She says she wants to help, but I won't let her. I can't. If I agree I need help, I agree that Fred's …gone._

_No. No I won't. I will not._

_She says I'm not on my own. She doesn't understand. None of them understand. If Charlie had died, Bill might. A bit. But Charlie didn't die. Fred died. No one understands._

_No one._

_Fred …_

_The only person who would understand is gone._

_I am on my own._

_Always. Always on my own._

_Fred …_

_No don't. Don't think about it. Don't think about _him_. Don't care. Don't feel. Don't. Don't._

_Fred …_

_Always on my own._

_Always._

_Fred …_

**St. Mungo's Hospital –That Evening**

Katie was sitting in the foyer at St. Mungo's. She knew she really shouldn't be there, but she had been unable to settle to anything at home. She wanted to know about George, to find out if he was going to be okay. But she knew that the hospital authorities would not tell her anything as she wasn't a relative. Every time someone walked past, she looked up, hoping it would be one of the Weasleys, or Harry or Hermione – someone she could ask about George. Finally, she heard voices and Ron, Ginny, Harry and Hermione appeared, heading from the hospital entrance up towards the wards.

"Ron! Ginny!" Katie hoped her voice wasn't shaking. The four stopped, and looked at her in astonishment.

"Katie!" exclaimed Ron. "What on earth are you doing here?"

"I was worried about George," Katie explained. "Is he okay?"

Ron shook his head. "No he isn't," he said bluntly. "They've sorted out his hands, but he won't wake up. They say it's psychological – that he's choosing to stay like that, but none of us seem to be able to get through to him."

Katie felt tears welling up in her eyes, and blinked them back rapidly. "Oh no," she whispered. "Poor George. How awful. I don't – I don't expect you'd let me see him?"

Ginny bridled at this, and seemed about to say something, but Hermione grabbed her arm and shook her head at her. Ron had mentioned that Katie had been turning up at the shop more often than he would expect lately, and Hermione was rapidly jumping to conclusions. What George felt about Katie she had no way of knowing, but it was pretty clear to Hermione that Katie thought of George as rather more than a friend. Her presence at the hospital now was a demonstration of that.

Ron frowned. "I dunno. I don't s'pose it'd do any harm. Look, you lot stay here, and I'll go and ask Mum about it." He disappeared in the direction of the ward and the others sat down, Ginny glowering at Katie, whom she clearly felt to be an intruder.

In George's room, Ron was having considerable difficulty persuading his mother to agree to Katie's request. Molly was inclined to agree with her daughter and to view Katie as an intruder. In the end it was Bill, who had been at the hospital with Fleur since that afternoon, and who looked considerably better than he had done the previous day, who talked her round.

"It's not going to do any harm, Mum," he pointed out. "If this – Katie? - really cares about George as Ron seems to think, she might be able to get through to him. None of us are having much luck. Come and have a cup of tea – you need a break – and let Ron bring Katie up here."

Molly nodded reluctantly. "Okay. But ten minutes, no more. And Ron and Percy have to stay."

Both Ron and Percy opened their mouths to protest at this, but their mother was adamant. "Either you agree to that, or she doesn't come in at all," she said, in a tone that her sons all knew meant that she was not to be dissuaded.

"Okay," said Ron, with a shrug, turning away and heading for the door to fetch Katie. Bill put his arm round his mother, and led her to the door too, Fleur following.

Katie sat beside George on the bed and took one of his hands in hers. She wasn't sure what she wanted to say, and she wished she could have seen George alone, even though Percy and Ron were both standing at the window with their backs to the bed, and Ron had told her to pretend that they weren't there. That was easier said than done, Katie thought.

She stroked George's hair back from his face, and bent and kissed his cheek. "Hi George," she said, trying to keep her voice light and natural, hoping it wasn't shaking too much. Seeing George so vulnerable hurt even more than she had expected it to. "I guess you're having a pretty rough time right now. Perhaps I shouldn't have let you go off like that yesterday, but it seemed like the best thing to do. I spoke to Parvati and Padma afterwards. They were really sorry they'd upset you. I guess they understand more than the rest of us what losing Fred must feel like." She sighed and squeezed George's hand, running her other hand gently down the side of his face. "I wish you'd wake up. I want to help."

_Someone else is here. They're holding my hand. Not firmly like Bill or Percy or Ron, more gently. But it's not rough like Mum's hand. More like Ginny's or Fleur's, but it's not either of them. They're – she's – talking, kissing my face. _

_Katie? Katie? What's she doing here? She says she wants to help._

_No. Don't. Don't think about Katie. If I have to care about Katie, I'll care about me, about Fred. No. Don't._

_She wants to help. Could she? Could she help me? No. Don't. Don't. Don't think it. Fred's gone. No one can help, no one._

_Not even Katie._

_Not even Katie?_

_Maybe, maybe …_

Katie had run out of things to say. She stroked George's hair, trying desperately to think of something – anything – that might help, but unable to do so.

_She's still here. She's stroking my hair, but she's not talking any more. I wish she would._

_Katie? Katie?_

The door opened, and Molly Weasley entered, followed by Bill.

"You've had more than ten minutes, dear," she said to Katie, trying to speak kindly, but clearly wanting to get rid of this girl she didn't know and who she felt to be an intruder. "It's time you went now, I think."

_Mum's back. She wants Katie to go. Why? I don't want her to. I want her to stay._

_Katie…_

"Okay," Katie said quietly. She bent and kissed George again, squeezing his hand. "Bye George. See you soon I hope."

_She's going. Kissing me goodbye. I don't want her to go. I want her here. I want her help._

_Katie. Don't go._

_Don't leave me on my own._

_Don't go Katie._

Katie stood up to leave, but as she tried to release George's hand, she felt his holding hers tightly, not letting her go.

"George?" she gasped, as his eyes flickered open, and met hers.

"Katie!" he whispered. "Don't go – please!"

Katie sat back down on the bed and stroked George's hair again with her free hand. "Hey you," she said quietly, blinking back tears. "I'm glad you're awake."

Then George's arms were going round her, and he was pulling her down to him, and kissing her hard. Neither of them was aware of the others rapidly exiting the room and leaving them alone, Molly with some reluctance being firmly led out by Bill and Percy on either side of her.

Once in the small waiting are outside, where Ginny, Fleur, Hermione and Harry were sitting, she rounded on her sons. "What did you do that for?" she demanded. "We don't even know who that girl is!"

Bill raised his eyebrows at her and slipped an arm round her shoulders. "George obviously does, Mum, and that's what matters," he said, smiling slightly. "I really don't think either of them wants us around right now. If she can help George when none of us have managed, how can that be a bad thing? Anyway, I do know her vaguely – she works at Gringotts – and Percy and Ron and Ginny know her from school."

Ron came over and hugged his mother. "Bill's right, Mum," he said. "Katie got through to George when we didn't. She's obviously the person he needs right now. And she's very nice – you'll like her."

Molly gaped at him. "So am I to understand that there's something going on between George and this Katie person?" she asked.

Ron looked back through the window in the door of George's room. Katie was sitting on the bed, holding both of George's hands and talking quietly to him. George's eyes were fixed on her face, and although there were tears on his cheeks, he was smiling slightly.

"Well, I don't think there was before," Ron replied with a grin. "Though Katie has been crazy about George for ages whether he realised it or not. But I think you'd be pretty safe in saying there is now…"

_Katie's still here. She kissed me, she's holding my hands and smiling at me._

_But if I care about Katie, I'll have to care about Fred, about me. Is it worth the risk? Is it?_

_Maybe she can help me. Can she? Maybe._

_Maybe I'm not alone any more._

_Maybe._


	29. Christmas: I

Christmas is going to be a series of shortish scenes with different people, and here are the first three.

The scene with Percy and his parents wasn't planned, but sort of wrote itself. I still can't like Percy much after what he did, but I do feel sorry for him, so I hope this works.

Next up is George, Katie and some mistletoe...

**Christmas**

**I. Monday 18****th**** December 1998 - The Burrow**

"George Fabian Weasley, you are not serious!" Molly was at her fiercest, hands on hips, glaring at her fifth son. "You can't possibly go to the shop today. You only got out of hospital this morning."

"But I'm not ill, Mum," protested George. "I'm fine. And it's not fair to leave Ron and Lee to run the shop while I sit around here."

"They have Harry and Ginny to help them. They can manage perfectly well without you, George." Molly's tone had a note of pleading in it now.

"Yeah, but it's our – it's my – shop, Mum. I want to be there. I'm okay now, really."

"Really?" His mother looked at him sceptically. "Until when? Until you see something that reminds you of Fred? Which you will at the shop, you know you will. Until you look in the mirror? Until a set of twins comes in? Will you be okay then?" She sat down abruptly at the kitchen table, burying her face in her hands. "I'm worried about you, George," she said, her voice muffled.

George sat beside her and put his arm round her shoulders. "I know, Mum, I know," he said softly. "And I can't promise you I _will_ be okay all the time. How can I? But wherever I am, _something's _going to remind me of Fred." His voice trembled, despite his efforts to control it. "The alternative is forgetting him, though, and I don't want to do that, even if I could. _You_ don't', do you?"

His mother shook her head. "No, no dear, of course I don't. But – after this weekend … I'm just scared, George, scared we're going to lose you too."

"Oh, Mum," George hugged her. "You're not going to. I won't – I won't let myself get in such a state again. Or I'll try not to. I'll ask for help before it gets that bad. And I promise I won't go off on my own again, and I'll come back here to sleep if you want me to. But I do want to go the shop today."

"Will _she_ be there?" asked Molly. She knew she was acting like a jealous overprotective mother, but she couldn't stop herself. After all he had been through in the last six months, the last thing George needed was some girl messing him about.

"George frowned. "D'you mean Katie?" he asked. "She has a name, you know Mum. And no, she won't be there. She'll be at work, I should think. But I am going to see her soon, if that's what you're asking."

His mother blinked back tears. "I just don't want you to rush into anything, dear. I know how lonely you are, w-without Fred…"

George's expression softened and he hugged his mother again. "We'll take things slowly, Mum, I promise," he said quietly. "And I _am_ lonely, but there's no way I could think of replacing Fred with anyone, even Katie. It's a completely different thing, really, you must see that." He grinned. "She's prettier than him, for a start."

Molly smiled, despite herself. "Oh Georgie." She hugged him tightly. "I suppose I can't stop you going to the shop if you want to, short of putting a body bind curse on you. But promise me you'll come back here this evening?"

George smiled at her. "Yeah, Mum, I promise."

**II. Monday 18****th**** December 1998 – Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes**

George Apparated outside the leaky Cauldron, and walked along Diagon Alley to Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. After the last couple of days, being here again seemed slightly surreal. He looked up at the white front of Gringotts' Wizarding Bank, wishing he could go in there and see Katie. He wanted to have a normal conversation with her, to clarify exactly where they stood. The previous evening at the hospital seemed like a very long time ago now. He desperately wanted to find out how she felt about him – hell, was he even sure about how he felt about her? He wanted to talk to her somewhere ordinary. Not in a hospital, when every one had been worried sick about him, when his thoughts were in turmoil, when practically his whole family was waiting outside the door. He sighed, and turned resolutely away from the Bank. He'd see Katie soon enough.

Lee and Ginny were in the front room of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes when he walked in, and both gaped at the sight of him.

"Should you be here, mate?" Lee queried, his concern evident in both his face and his voice.

Ginny slipped out from behind the counter, and came over and hugged him. "How on earth did you get Mum to let you out of the house?" she asked incredulously.

George hugged her back, and smiled at both of them. "My powers of persuasion haven't failed me yet," he said. "I'm alright now, really I am. I promised Mum I wouldn't run off on my own again though, so if you see any signs that I'm going to, stupefy me or put a jelly-legs curse on me or something, okay?"

Ginny laughed, a bit shakily. "Okay," she said. "Lee, you're a witness that he said we could."

Lee grinned. "Perhaps we should get it in writing, just in case…"

George made a face at him, and went through to the back room, where both Ron and Harry were busy enough with customers that they could do nothing more than open their eyes wide at the sight of him.

George went through to the lobby behind the shop, up the stairs into the flat and into their – his – room. Belatedly, he realised that his shop robes must be at The Burrow, and were probably still filthy from the graveyard. Sighing, he pulled open the wardrobe and grabbed Fred's, blinking hard. Dammit, he was _not_ going to start crying again. He could do this, really he could. He pulled on the robes, and closed his eyes and swallowed hard, before running back down the stairs to the shop.

Even with five of them there, it was busy enough to keep George's mind firmly on his work and away from Fred. He was aware of course that the others were all keeping a surreptitious eye on him, alert for any sign that he was not coping, that he was going to fall apart again. George was grateful for their concern, but by the middle of the afternoon had decided that it was definitely a bit wearing. He escaped down the stairs to the cellar stockroom, on the pretext of finding more joke wands and headless hats to refill the rapidly emptying shelves in the shop.

Scanning the racks for what he wanted – why did Ron keep rearranging things down here? - George came across two large cardboard boxes of something entirely different, which gave him the germ of an idea. Smiling to himself, he found a quill and ink and wrote: _"Don't put these out. I want them. G." _on each box in large red letters, before grabbing the things he had come downstairs for, and heading back up to the shop.

**III. Tuesday 19****th**** December 1998 - The Burrow**

Percy came in from work to find his mother crying in the living room, a multicoloured pile of knitting wool in front of her.

"Mum!" he exclaimed, sitting down beside her and putting an arm round her heaving shoulders. "What's up now?"

Molly choked, but was unable to say anything coherent. Percy hugged her, before standing up and going back into the kitchen. By the time he returned, with two steaming mugs of tea, his mother had calmed down somewhat, and was scrubbing at her eyes with a soaked handkerchief.

She smiled at the sight of the tea. "You know that if Fleur was here she'd make some comment about the English thinking that tea can cure anything?" she asked, with a watery smile.

Percy smiled back. "Just as well she's not here then," he answered. "And tea might not cure things, but it makes them look better sometimes. What's up Mum?"

Molly scrubbed at her eyes again. "I-I was knitting the Christmas sweaters," she choked. "And-and I forgot and started one with an 'F' on. And-and now I don't know whether to put a 'G' on George's or not. I've _always_ put initials on the twins' sweaters, and now-now there's n-no n-n-need." She began to sob again, and Percy grabbed her mug and put it on the table before pulling her into his arms.

"Oh Mum," he murmured, feeling tears starting in his own eyes. Why did silly little things like this have to hurt so much? "Oh Mum."

"So what do you think I should do?" asked Molly through her tears. "If I don't put a 'G' on it, it'll feel wrong, but if I do, it'll just make it worse that I don't have to make an 'F' one too…"

Percy held her close, thinking hard. She was quite right of course. Whatever she chose to do would feel wrong. But it did seem ridiculous to get so upset about a bloody jumper…

Suddenly, inspiration struck him and he smiled. "Make George a jumper in the shop colours with 'WWW' on it," he suggested. "He'd like that, and if it's completely different from other years, it might be better."

Molly looked at him, blinking hard. "D'you really think he'd like that?" she asked. "Really?"

Percy nodded. "I'm sure he would, Mum. Do it. Please."

Molly swallowed and tried to smile. "Okay," she said. "Thanks Percy."

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Molly was halfway through knitting George's jumper when a very weary-looking Arthur arrived a couple of hours later. She was so absorbed in what she was doing, that she was unaware of his presence until he spoke.

"That's a bit bright," he said. "Who's it for?"

Molly dropped her knitting, jumped up and ran over to kiss him. "Arthur!" she exclaimed. "I didn't hear you come in. Is Charlie okay?"

Arthur hugged her, and collapsed into the settee with a sigh, pulling her down beside him "Charlie's fine. Bill's at St. Mungo's with him at the moment – likely to be there till they chuck him out from the way he and Charlie were non-stop talking. How about everyone else? What about George?"

Molly frowned slightly. "I think George is okay," she said with a sigh. "Or as okay as he can manage anyway. He's insisted on going back to work, which I don't really approve of, but he's coming back here at night at least. And he's promised not to go off on his own again if he gets upset." There were tears in her eyes, and Arthur pulled her close and kissed her.

"Sorry," she muttered. "It's just so hard seeing him hurting so much. And when none of us could get through to him at St. Mungo's…"

"I know, love, I know," murmured her husband, kissing her again. "At least this – what's her name? Katie? – managed to wake him up."

Molly nodded, a bit reluctantly. "Yes, but I can't help worrying, Arthur. I don't think I could bear it if she ends up hurting him. He's been through too much already."

"It sounds like she's just what George needs right now," said Arthur bracingly. "Where is he anyway? And Percy and Ron and Ginny? It's very quiet round here."

Molly gave a watery smile. "Unnatural isn't it?" she said. "Compared to the old days when we had seven noisy kids in the house. Percy's upstairs in his room; he said he had a report to finish for work. Ron and Ginny and Hermione and Harry have gone to that nightclub in Diagon Alley. George has gone out with Katie. I don't know where they went, but he promised not to be too late back. I think he was humouring me…"

Arthur chuckled. "Sounds like it. He is twenty, Molly. A bit old to have his mother worrying about what time he gets in."

Molly smiled a little sadly. "Yes, I know, but I can't help it, Arthur. I just can't."

He hugged her again. "I know, Molly," he whispered. "It's natural to worry, but we have to give George a bit of space to get through this in his own way. We have to be there for him when he needs us, of course, but that's not all the time."

Molly nodded. "I'm glad I didn't know that being a parent would be this hard before we had the children," she sighed. "I don't think I'd have agreed to have one, let alone seven."

Arthur kissed her, and decided that it was more than time to change the subject. "So who's the lurid jumper for?" he asked, and Molly laughed.

"George, of course. It's the same colour as those ridiculous robes they wear in the shop, and it's going to have 'WWW' on the front."

Arthur grinned. "Of course, I should have realised. Whose idea was that?"

"Percy's," replied his wife. "I-I got a bit upset about whether to put a 'G' on George's jumper or not, and Percy suggested this as something completely different."

"Good for Percy," said Arthur warmly. "I don't know what we'd do without him at the moment."

He was unaware that the door to the living room had opened, and that Percy was standing there scarlet in the face, until he heard his smothered exclamation at what his father had just said. When Arthur realised that Percy was there, he stood up and went over and hugged his third son, who seemed incapable of saying anything right now.

"It's true, son," Arthur said, pulling away from the hug, and looking Percy in the face. "This family would never have got through the last week without you."

Percy shook his head, choking on tears. "I-I-I haven't done anything sp-special," he protested, "I-I've just b-been here, like-like I should have been before- before … A long time before." He finished in a whisper, and then broke into harsh sobs, as his father pulled him into his arms and held him close.

"We've got you back now, Percy," he murmured. What happened before is over. It doesn't matter any more. We've got you back, and we're not losing you again. Okay?"

And Percy managed a husky: "Okay," as his mother stood up and wrapped her arms around her son and her husband, making the hug a three-way one, all of them knowing that nothing would pull them apart again.


	30. Christmas: II

George, Katie and (eventually) some mistletoe. I have to admit to being inordinately proud of this chapter :-)

The bit about George and Bill when Fred dies refers to my "Bill's Story".

Please review. I love reading your comments!

Not sure who's coming next, but I am getting Bill withdrawal symptoms...

**IV. Tuesday 19****th**** December 1998 – Viggo's Bar, Diagon Alley**

There was silence between the two of them. They had been friends – good friends – for eight years, and now they didn't know what to say to each other. And it wasn't as though either of them was exactly shy…

Katie took a gulp of her wine and looked George in the eye. "This is silly," she told him, mock sternly. "We have to talk to each other or we might as well go home now."

He smiled at her and took her hand. "Can't I just look at you?" he asked teasingly.

"You can do that as well if you insist."

"Okay. What do you want to talk about? Us?"

"Is there an us?"

"I think so. I hope so. If you want there to be."

"I do, but…"

"But what?" he asked, raising his eyebrows at her.

"I don't… I don't want anyone to think I'm taking advantage of you."

"You taking advantage of me? I rather thought it might be the other way round." George took a sip of his firewhisky and surveyed Katie with a slight frown. "My mother thinks I want you as a Fred substitute, as if such a thing were possible."

"Oh George… I don't think your mother approves of me. She couldn't wait to get rid of me the other night at Mungo's."

George shook his head. "She doesn't even know you," he pointed out. "She's just being overprotective." He sighed. "Which is understandable, I guess, but a bit wearing at times. She doesn't want me to get hurt. Or hurt any more, anyway." Despite all his good intentions for the evening, he felt tears pricking his eyes, and a sob rising in his throat. He blinked and swallowed hard, but Katie had seen. She reached across the table and touched his face gently.

"That's what I mean about me taking advantage of you," she said quietly. "I-I don't want to be this predatory woman who swoops down on you when you're vulnerable because-because of Fred."

George choked, and tried to smile. "I don't see you as the predatory swooping type somehow," he murmured. "But…"

"What George?"

"I'm mucked up, Katie. I-I'm going to be mucked up for a long time I think. L-losing F-Fred isn't …" George stopped, unable to go on, and Katie squeezed his hand as he fought for self-control. Eventually, he mastered himself enough to continue. "L-losing Fred isn't something I'm going to get over quickly, like-like toothache or something," he whispered. "In fact, I don't think I'm ever going to get over it. I can't imagine it, anyway. I'm not sure I even want to, because that would be like s-saying it's-it's okay he's dead. If-if we're going to be together, you'll have to learn to live with that. I-I know I'm pretty hard to cope with right now, and-and I seriously d-don't think that's going to get a lot better any day soon."

"Oh George." Katie could feel tears pricking her eyes now too, and she came round the table to sit beside him and hug him. "I love you, George, however mucked up you are. I've loved you for a long time. Before-before Fred died even. I can't switch it off because he died. And I want to help."

He looked at her in some astonishment. "Really? Before Fred died? I never knew, Katie."

She smiled. "No, I know you didn't. There was no reason why you should. You and Fred were having too good a time running the shop and generally having fun to bother about me – or Angelina."

He shook his head. "Fred bothered about Ange. He just never got round to doing anything about her before we had to go into hiding. Then-then it was too late. Stupid git." He tried a smile, but it was a very watery one.

Katie pulled a sympathetic face and ran a hand down the side of George's face. "We might all have done things differently if we'd known what was going to happen."

"Yeah." George closed his eyes against the tears, and took Katie's hand, kissing her fingers. "We'd never have gone to Hogwarts that night, for a start."

Katie shook her head. "You would, you know. And so would Fred. I can't imagine either of you sitting at home while everyone else was fighting. We all knew we might get – killed. We j-just never imagined it-it w-would really happen to one of us."

"Maybe." There were tears on George's face now, and he brushed them away impatiently. "But I'd never have let Fred go down that fucking corridor. Or not without me, anyway." He stopped, and closed his eyes, breathing deeply in an effort to control his voice. "That's-that's almost the worst thing, you know Katie. I wasn't with him. I wasn't with him. It should have been me there, not bloody Percy."

"George…" Katie pulled him close, kissing his wet face.

"I knew," he choked against her hair. "I knew when he died even though I wasn't there. I said to Bill, 'Fred's dead'. And-and he d-didn't argue or contradict m-me. I wanted him to, so badly. But he-he knew – he knew that if one of us – died – the other would know. He-he j-just believed me. I c-can't forget the look on his face …"

Katie made an inarticulate noise that was almost a sob. "George, I'm so sorry. I wish I could make it better. I wish I could make it stop hurting."

George was rubbing his eyes and choking on his sobs, making heroic efforts to stop crying. "Sorry," he muttered. "We're supposed to be talking about us, and I go and fall apart again. I'm sorry, Katie."

She kissed him and rubbed his arm. "S'okay," she said. "At least you're giving me a taste of what I'm in for. C'mon, let's go for a walk." She pulled George from his seat and out of the bar, her arm through his. It was a clear frosty night, the stars bright against a dark blue sky. There was a sheltered bench in a lamp-lit corner near the end of Diagon Alley, and Katie steered George to it, drawing him down beside her and wrapping her arms around him. He was still crying quietly, and she rubbed his back and stroked his hair as he wept against her shoulder, rocking him slightly, and wishing she could do something – anything – to take his pain away. Eventually, he managed to stop crying, and pulled away from her, scrubbing at his eyes with the heels of his hands.

"P'rhaps this isn't such a good idea after all," he muttered. "I don't – I don't want to-to make you have to put up with this all the time, Katie. Y-you'd be better off w-with s-someone else. Someone who isn't an emotional wreck. Someone who's-who's _whole_." Even as he said it, something inside him was crying out: "No, no!" because losing Katie now was the last thing he wanted. But it was beyond unfair to expect her to deal with him as he was now.

Katie put her arms back round him and pulled him towards her. "I don't want someone else, you idiot," she whispered. She was crying now. "It's you I want George, however hurt you are. I-I know I can't make it right. I-I c-can't bring Fr-Fred back. I w-wish I c-could. I-I m-miss him too. And-and I miss the p-person y-you were before he d-died." Her voice trailed off, then she swallowed and continued more firmly. "But you're still George. You're still the man I love. The one I want to be with, even if it's hard sometimes. Let me help, George, please."

He choked, and tried to respond, but was unable to. But Katie thought she had her answer in the way his arms came round her and held her tightly. She continued to hold him, stroking his hair, until she felt him stop shaking.

"Sorry," he muttered again, as his grip on her loosened slightly. "Sorry."

"Stop apologising. It's okay, George. Really it's okay."

"Come on," he stood up and pulled her upright, holding her hand tightly in his.

"Where are we going?" Katie asked, slightly bewildered.

"Madam Malkins'."

"What? George, what are you talking about?" Katie was completely lost now.

"You'll see. C'mon." He towed her into the sheltered doorway of Madam Malkins' shop. "Look up," he told her, half-smiling despite his tear-ravaged face, and she did so, feeling as confused as ever.

"Mistletoe," he said, as if that explained everything. Perhaps it did. "Watch out for Nargles."

"What the hell are Nargles?" Katie asked.

George grinned. "I have absolutely no idea." Then he kissed her.

Despite his promise to his mother, George was late home that evening.


	31. Christmas: III

O-kay. The first George bit is really short as a set-up for Christmas Eve.

The Bill/Charlie conversation in the second went a completely different way from how I was expecting.

And the third Bill/Fleur bit is a fluffy thing that has been buzzing round my head for a while, that I needed to put in somewhere. I can just imagine Molly doing what Fleur's complaining about...

Hope you like it. Read and review...

**V. Wednesday 20****th**** December 1998 – Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes**

George Apparated in the main part of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes early the following morning, resisting the urge to scare Ron, and Hermione if she was there, by Apparating directly into the flat above. He went down the stairs to the storeroom and retrieved the two large boxes he had labelled two days earlier. He rummaged through them, hoping that there was enough of what he wanted in there for his half-formed plan. Most of what he needed seemed to be there, but there were a couple of things he would have to work on to make what he wanted to do complete. He had four days, which ought to be enough, but he was reluctantly forced to admit to himself that he would need some help with the final execution of the plan. Ron and Lee were the obvious people. He would collar them for a drink after work tonight and put it to them.

_George, Ron and Lee_

_request the pleasure of your company_

_at a special event in celebration of Fred Weasley_

_11pm Christmas Eve_

_The Paddock, Ottery-St-Catchpole_

**VI. Thursday 21st December 1998 – St. Mungo's Hospital**

"So what's George planning then?" asked Charlie, looking at the invitation on his bedside table. "I assume you've got one of these too?"

"Yeah, but I have no idea what it's all about," replied Bill. "George has that look in his eyes that he and Fred used to have when they were plotting something."

"Well, that has to be a good thing, doesn't it?" mused Charlie.

Bill nodded. "I guess so. Are they going to let you out of here before Christmas Eve so you can go?"

"Merlin, I hope so," his brother sighed. "I'm fed up of hospitals. If they don't let me out, I might just have to escape…"

Bill laughed. "Mum'd love that."

Charlie grinned at him. "You can confund her for me so she doesn't notice."

"You'll have to time it right then," Bill told him. "We're going to France tomorrow, and not getting back till Christmas Eve afternoon."

"I'll bear that in mind," said Charlie dryly. "Hopefully they'll _let_ me out, and the question won't arise. The Mediwizard this morning was muttering about sending me home soon."

"Then you'll just have to put up with Mum fussing over you non-stop."

"I can cope with that for a while if it means getting out of here. Hospitals are boring."

"Serves you right," retorted his brother heartlessly. "Might teach you not to be so stupid in future and frighten us all."

Charlie made a face at him, and decided to change the subject. "So what about this girl of George's? Have you met her?"

"I know her vaguely. She works at Gringotts'. And I guess she was at Fred's funeral, though I don't really remember. Anyway, I thought _you_ knew her? George said you put her on the Quidditch team in her first year."

"Yeah, I think I did, but I don't remember anything about her beyond the fact she was a bloody good Chaser. And I should think she's changed a bit since she was eleven."

Bill laughed. "I should hope so. I like what I know of her. And she's pretty. Ron says she's been crazy about George for ages, but he didn't realise."

"Well, he's hardly been in any state to think about girls has he? I gather Mum disapproves. She was muttering about it yesterday when she was here."

"Mum disapproves as a matter of principle, I think," said Bill, frowning slightly. "Look how she was with Fleur. Anyone that any of us bring home is not going to be good enough for her, at least at first. Except Hermione maybe – Ron might be onto a winner there."

"Mum's okay with Fleur now though, isn't she?" queried Charlie, looking at his brother sharply.

Bill nodded. "Most of the time, yeah. Though it took me being attacked by a werewolf to bring her round, which I wouldn't recommend. At least Katie has the advantage of being English."

"Mm. What do you think Mum'd make of Welsh?"

Bill opened his eyes wide at his brother. "What aren't you telling me, Charlie? Has your friend Idris got a sister?"

Charlie grinned, slightly sheepishly. "Yeah. Eleri Wyn. She's the most beautiful girl I've ever seen…"

"Says the man whose sister-in-law is part Veela," interrupted Bill laughingly. "Sounds like you've got it bad, little brother. Is this serious?"

Charlie reddened, but nodded. "Could be. We've been out a few times. She works in Romania too, for the Ministry. I'm not sure that dating my best friend's sister is a brilliant idea though. Idris is definitely a bit suspicious of my motives."

"You'd better talk to Harry about that," Bill told him. "If he can cope with going out with Ginny with Ron – not to mention the rest of us – breathing down his neck, it must be possible."

Charlie laughed. "Yeah, it must. At least Eleri only has one brother, not six - five – six." He stopped abruptly and closed his eyes. "Dammit. I _hate _things like that."

Bill gripped Charlie's hand. "Me too. Six sounds better." His voice was husky. He sighed. "Do you think we're ever going to get used to this? That-that Fred being dead will feel normal?"

Charlie shook his head, blinking furiously. "I can't imagine it. Can you? Seriously?"

Bill's eyes were suspiciously bright too. "No. No I can't. How-how can our little brother being dead ever feel remotely normal? Or something we get so used to we forget about it? Perhaps-perhaps it might hurt less eventually…" His voice tailed off.

"Maybe." Charlie's answer was so muffled by tears it was hardly comprehensible, and Bill moved to sit beside him on the bed. For a minute, the two brothers clung together, both fighting to regain their self-control. Uncharacteristically, it was Charlie who recovered first. He pulled away from Bill, and regarded his older brother seriously.

"Sorry. Are you okay? I-I didn't mean to upset you. Or me either, come to that."

Bill took some deep breaths and pulled a hand across his eyes. "Yeah, I'm okay. Are you?"

Charlie nodded. "Sort of. As I ever am, anyway. It's always there, isn't it?"

"Yeah," Bill said quietly. "And most of the time you just live with it, but then it-it jumps up and bites you. Merlin, Charlie, why Fred? It's so bloody unfair."

His voice cracked, and Charlie pulled him back into a hug. "Wars are unfair, or so everyone keeps telling us… It's not like Fred was the only one…"

"I know." Bill swallowed hard, and scrubbed at his eyes with his hands. "Sorry, Charlie. I'm okay, really."

The two pulled apart, and looked at each other. "We will get through this, you know," Charlie said steadily. "We have to. And if _George_ can get up every morning and carry on living, then the rest of us can't do any less."

Bill sighed. "You're right, of course. I-I just wish it wasn't so bloody _hard_. You realise that Christmas has the potential to be a nightmare, don't you?"

"Yeah," Charlie replied quietly. "I just hope that whatever George has planned for Christmas Eve doesn't start Mum off crying too early. They'll _have _to let me out for Christmas, Bill. I can't let you cope with it without me."

Bill grimaced at the unspoken assumption that – even with their father there – getting their family through Christmas without too much emotional upheaval might be down to the two of them. Sometimes being the oldest of a large family was hard.

"I'll come and help you break out, if they haven't sent you home by the time we get back from Fleur's parents'," Bill said, squeezing his brother's hand. "Look, I have to get back to work if I'm going to have a job to go back to after Christmas. Are you really alright now?"

Charlie nodded. "Yeah. What about you?"

"More or less. I'll see you Christmas Eve – and make sure it's at The Burrow, not here, okay?" Bill smiled at his brother.

"I'll do my best."

The two hugged briefly, and Bill headed out of the door.

"See you Charlie."

"Bye Bill. Have fun in France."

Once his brother had gone, Charlie leant back on his pillows and closed his eyes. Bill was quite right: Christmas might be a nightmare without Fred. All he could do was hope that the Mediwizards would let him go home so that he could do his part towards making sure that it wasn't.

**VII. Friday 22****nd**** December 1998 – Shell Cottage**

"Fleur, are you ready?" Bill called up the stairs to his wife.

"Yes, yes I am ready," she replied, running down the stairs to join him "I just deed not want to forget anysing."

Bill surveyed the array of cases with a grin. "We are only going for two days, you realise," he teased her.

"Christmas presents," Fleur told him firmly, glaring at him mock sternly. The she sighed. "I only 'ope zat my muzzer does not do ze same as yours does every time she sees me."

"What?" Bill was genuinely confused. "What does Mum do?"

"Oh, Bill, you must 'ave noteeced. Every time she sees me – every time – I see 'er eyes checking my waistline. She ees just desperate to be a grandmuzzer I sink, and I expect Maman will be ze same."

"Does she?" asked Bill, laughing. "I'd never noticed. Are you sure you're not imagining things, love?"

Fleur frowned at him. "Men never noteece sings like zat," she informed him loftily. "But eet ees true. You watch 'er when we see 'er on Sunday. And Ginny and 'Ermione 'ave started to do eet too sometimes."

Bill kissed her. "Sounds like we'd better get a move on and make them all happy then, doesn't it?" he asked, half-laughing.

She smiled. "Maybe. But even eef eet 'appens soon, zey can wait a while to be told I sink. Patience is a virtue, after all…"

Bill laughed. "You are wicked."

"Yes. I am. Zat is why you like me so much…"

Bill kissed her, and the two of them Disapparated to Fleur's parents' house in France.


	32. Christmas: IV

Sorry this has taken a while. I've known for ages what I wanted in this chapter, but I had a heck of a job getting it down on paper. Inspiration struck yesterday when I was filling the drinks fridge at work, which is fairly mindless task and leaves 90 per cent of your brain free for more interesting things. Thanks to Helen for reading this and telling me it was okay...

I realise that the ending of this chapter has a bit of a "final" feel to it. This is by no means the end, but it is meant as a sort of turning point, though as it says in here there are lots more hard days to come.

Christmas Day is next.

Please read and review.

**VII. Christmas Eve 1998 – The Paddock, Ottery St. Catchpole**

There were more people there than Arthur and Molly had expected. As well as the Weasleys themselves, there were a lot of former and current Hogwarts students, some of whom Arthur and Molly recognised, others whom they didn't. There were also several shopkeepers from Diagon Alley, a scattering of Hogwarts teachers, and a few others, including Kingsley Shacklebolt, the Minister for Magic himself. All in all, there was quite a crowd assembled in the paddock behind The Burrow. It was a frosty night, the sky clear and starry and there were points of Lumos here and there from lighted wands. George had roped in Harry, Hermione and Ginny to serve hot punch, which was keeping everyone warm while they waited. Of George himself, and of Lee and Ron, there was as yet no sign.

The three of them appeared from the far end of the paddock on the dot of eleven o' clock, and George stepped forward, smiling. "Ladies and gentlemen," he said, his voice carrying clearly in the frosty air, "Fred's a lot better at this sort of thing than I am, but since he's unaccountably refused to show up, you'll have to make do with me. The show tonight is a celebration of Fred, who was a very special person who we all miss a lot." Only those who knew him very well detected the slight tremble in George's voice at this point. "Since it's a celebration, no one's allowed to cry – and that includes you, Mum! And though this is really for Fred, the very first part is for Charlie to remind him not to turn his back on a dragon again. So, ladies and gentlemen, if you'd like to extinguish your wands, the show will begin in exactly one minute."

There were murmurs of "Nox" among the crowd, and for a few moments there was complete darkness and silence as they all held their breath waiting to see what was going to happen. By now, most people had realised that they were expecting fireworks, but when they began, the effect was so amazing that everyone gasped.

A huge blue and purple dragon, four times the height of the trees around the paddock, breathing yellow and red fire with green sparks erupting from its eyes appeared at the far end of the paddock. For a minute it hung suspended and unmoving, then with a deafening roar it flew towards the waiting crowd so that many of them instinctively took several steps backwards. Just as it reached them, however, the dragon took off vertically and exploded in a rain of purple and gold fire above their heads.

Everyone was laughing and applauding, but that was only the beginning of the most spectacular firework show any of them had ever seen. Of course, they had all seen fireworks before. They had all seen good fireworks before – it was practically impossible to know the Weasley Twins and not to have come across their fireworks at some time or another. And those who had been at Hogwarts nearly three years previously all remembered with affection and some awe the display that Fred and George had put on for Dolores Umbridge's special benefit. But on this occasion, George, with Ron and Lee's help, had outdone himself and surpassed all previous efforts.

The dragon was followed by rockets, rockets of every colour of the rainbow, exploding and criss-crossing each other in the sky so that the stars were obscured by a rain of multicoloured fire, and everyone's ears were ringing with the loud bangs they emitted as they exploded. Then, halfway along the paddock at ground level, pink and orange Catherine wheels of enormous diameter gave way to a picture of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes painted in fire, with two red-headed figures in magenta robes at the door, that were clearly meant to be Fred and George.

The watching crowd was almost silent now, waiting with bated breath to see what would come next. Despite George's words about this being a celebration, there were tears on many faces at the picture of the twins at the shop that had meant so much to both of them. The picture folded in on itself and exploded, green, orange and magenta plumes of fire shooting in all directions, and multicoloured sparklers began to write in the air. _"Fred Weasley – son, twin, brother and friend. A joker to the end. A hero and a fighter. We will never forget you Fred!"_

Then, even as Molly Weasley was hiding her tears in her husband's shoulder, the words dissolved into a silver and blue haze which resolved itself into a goblet with golden fire issuing from the top of it, and two bearded figures being flung away from it to land on their backs some distance away.

More rockets followed, and the crowd waited, knowing that the climax of a spectacular show was to come. When it did, it was completely unexpected, and drew cries of amazement and delight from many of the crowd. The biggest rocket yet exploded above their heads, and the falling sparks formed figures mounted on broomsticks, and clearly playing Quidditch. The figures in the scarlet and gold of Gryffindor were twice the size of those in green and silver, and largest of all was a red-head wielding a Beater's bat, who flung Bludger after Bludger towards the crowd, each one disintegrating in a shower of sparks just before it reached them. Eventually, one of the red and scarlet figures held aloft a pinprick of gold and silver light that was clearly meant to be a captured Snitch. Simultaneously the red-headed Beater sent a final Bludger towards the crowd, which exploded to send gold and scarlet lettering across the sky: _"Merry Christmas Fred. We love you."_

There was silence as the final scarlet and gold sparks shimmered into nothingness, and then the paddock erupted with cheering and clapping. George, Ron and Lee emerged grinning from the far end of the paddock, and were rapidly surrounded by a throng of excited people all wanting to congratulate them. Molly was the first to reach George, and she enveloped him in a hug, laughing despite the tears on her face.

"Mum, you're crying. I said you weren't allowed to."

"Oh George! I was hardly the only one!"

Then Arthur was beside George, hugging him too, and his brothers and sister were there as well, everyone talking at once.

"Did you like the dragon, Charlie?" asked Ron, laughing.

"Loved it! 'Cept it was so scary, I might be a bit blasé about the real ones now…"

"Charlie!"

"Only joking, Mum, really…"

Ron and Lee were getting their share of congratulations, though both of them denied having anything to do with the planning of the event.

"We just did what George told us," said Lee.

"First time for everything," laughed George.

"Don't get too used to it… Might be the only time."

It was a long time before everyone stopped talking. George had provided mince pies, hot chestnuts and fruit cake to go with the punch, and there was a real party atmosphere in the paddock. Struck with a sudden inspiration, Hermione conjured fairy lights in the trees, so that the area was filled with people moving in and out of coloured patches of light, their shadows weirdly distorted.

George was at the centre of a noisy group of young people, his arm slung round Katie's shoulders. Molly was inclined to look askance at this, but was diverted by Percy forcing more cake and punch on her, and pointing out that George looked happier than he had done for six months. Finally, everyone began to drift away, leaving the Weasleys to return to The Burrow.

Despite the lateness of the hour, none of them seemed ready for bed, and they assembled in the kitchen with mugs of coffee and still more mince pies.

"Where's Ron?" demanded Arthur, having looked round the crowded kitchen and done a quick head count.

"Taking Hermione back to her parents'" replied Harry. "She can only Apparate to round the corner – you can't exactly Apparate into a Muggle house at two in the morning even if the Muggles concerned do know their daughter's a witch. He'll be back in a bit."

Molly was worrying as usual. "Charlie, you should be in bed."

"No more than anyone else should at this time, Mum. I'm fine. Stop fussing." And despite the fact that both his arms were still bandaged and one was in a sling, and that there were still the marks of a burn on his face, he did look remarkably well for someone who had had a run-in with a dragon less than a fortnight earlier.

There was a loud pop outside, and Ron walked in, demanding coffee and grabbing the last mince pie form the plate before George could claim it.

Arthur looked round at his family. They were laughing and talking together in a way that they had not done since Fred died. There was a gap of course. There would always be a gap. But the fact that George's celebration of his twin had been just that – a celebration not a memorial – and the fact that they were all reacting as they were now gave him hope for the future. He knew that this was by no means the end of their grieving for Fred, and that there would be many more hard days to come. But they would get through them together as they had got through the last six difficult months. Fred would not expect anything less of them.


	33. Christmas: V

Another one that didn't turn out the way I expected (I'm always saying that...) This story obviously wants more Percy in it.

Christmas Day proper is next.

Read and review. You know you want to.

**VIII. Christmas Day 1998 4.30am - The Burrow**

Charlie was rudely awakened in the early hours of the morning by Percy crying out in his sleep: "No – no – no! No! Fred! No!" Charlie scrambled out of bed and crossed the room rapidly to sit on the edge of Percy's camp-bed (Percy having insisted that Charlie have the bed). Percy was sitting up, a look of sheer terror on his face, Although his eyes were wide open and staring, it was obvious that he was not actually awake, and it was clear too that he was reliving the moment of Fred's death. Charlie wondered how many times he had had the same nightmare with no one hearing him cry out. He gripped his brother's shoulders as firmly as he could with his bandaged hands, and shook him gently, trying to wake him without giving him too much of a shock.

"Percy! Perce! Wake up, wake up Percy. It's a dream, only a dream."

Percy's staring eyes gradually focussed on his brother's concerned face. As he realised where he was, he shivered, and began to cry, tears streaking his face. "I keep … I keep dreaming it. I want .. I want it to be different, but I keep seeing him lying there. Still smiling. I can't … I can't get it out of my head. I should have saved him, Charlie. It-it should have been me, not Fred. It should have been me."

He broke down then in a storm of sobs, and Charlie pulled him close, rubbing his back and murmuring to him. "Hush, Percy, hush. It's okay. You couldn't have done anything. It's not your fault. It's not, Percy, it's not."

But Percy continued to sob, with no sign of stopping, and Charlie was beginning to wonder if this was beyond him and if he needed to fetch one of his parents, when the door opened and George appeared.

"I thought I heard…" he began, and then saw Percy shaking with sobs in Charlie's arms. "Percy!" he cried, coming over to sit on the floor beside his two older brothers, not trusting the camp-bed to bear the weight of all thee of them, and putting a hand on Percy's back.

"I-I was dreaming," Percy choked out, his words hard to understand between the sobs. "F-Fred's death again. It's always the same. I-I always want it to be different. To be able to do something to save him. I couldn't. I couldn't. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry…"

Charlie's arms tightened around Percy as George spoke. "Percy, it wasn't your fault. It really wasn't. There was nothing you could have done. You know that. Ron and Harry and Hermione all say that, and they were there. You couldn't have saved Fred, Percy, no one could."

"I-I was his older brother. I was s-supposed to look after him."

"Percy, it doesn't work like that." There was a note of exasperation in Charlie's voice, although his tone was still gentle. "I'm _your _older brother and I can't stop you hurting like this. I wish I could…"

"Charlie's right, Percy. It doesn't work like that. Fred's my twin, and I wasn't there when he died. If-if things worked out tidily the way we think they ought to, I-I would've been there." George's voice was trembling, and Charlie shot him a sharp look. There was no way he could cope with George breaking down as well as Percy. George caught the look, and swallowed hard, correctly guessing what Charlie was thinking.

Percy had managed to get his sobs under control, but his voice when he spoke was hardly above a whisper. "I-I was such an idiot. All-all those years – all that time I-I pretended I wasn't part of this f-family. I thought I could get along without you b-but I couldn't. And w-when I finally c-came back, F-Fred died. It's not fair, it's just not fair. It should've been me who died. It should have been. I'm the one who deserved it, not Fred."

"Oh Percy," Charlie murmured. "That's not true. You didn't deserve to die any more than Fred did. Or Remus or Tonks or Dumbledore or Mad-Eye or that Creevey kid or anyone else that Voldemort killed. None of them deserved it, but people die in wars. And if you'd died, you wouldn't have deserved it either. Sure, you were an idiot, but you came back and you said sorry. That took courage, Perce. What happened before is finished, it's over. It doesn't matter now."

Percy shook his head. "It-it doesn't feel like that," he objected. "I was an idiot and a git. I deserved to die. Fred didn't."

Charlie and George exchanged looks, neither of them sure of what to say to convince Percy that he was wrong. His feelings were clearly deep-rooted, and it was obviously going to take more than a few reassuring words to alter them.

George scrambled to his feet. "I'm going to make some hot chocolate," he said. "I need something, if you two don't."

By the time he came back, three steaming mugs floating in front of him, Charlie and Percy were sitting on the other bed, their backs against the wall. Percy was calm now, but his face still bore a hopeless look that hurt George to see. He sighed, knowing it would take a lot more than chocolate to help his brother heal. He passed the mugs round, and joined the others on the bed.

Charlie took a gulp of his drink before setting down his mug carefully on the bedside table. "You always did make the best hot chocolate, Georgie," he said with a smile. "Better than Fred's even."

George grinned. "He always forgot the secret ingredient."

"What secret ingredient?" asked Percy, rousing from his reverie, but George shook his head.

"If I told you, it wouldn't be a secret would it?" he asked, half-laughing.

Charlie spoke up again. "Do you two remember when Uncle Gideon and Uncle Fabian died?" he asked. "You probably don't. You were too young."

"I remember Dad telling us about it when it happened," said Percy, frowning. "And-and…" He shivered slightly. "Thinking how-how horrible it was to put people in boxes when we were at the funeral." He shivered again, and George put a hand on his arm.

"I don't remember anything except Mum crying a lot," he said. "We were only three. Is this going somewhere, Charlie?"

Charlie could see George's point. The last thing he wanted was to upset Percy more, but he did have a reason for his question. "Yeah, I hope it is," he said. "After the funeral, Bill and I heard Mum and Dad talking in the kitchen. They didn't know we were listening. Mum was saying it was her fault."

"What?" demanded George incredulously. "How did she work that one out? That makes no sense at all."

"Yeah, I know it doesn't," replied Charlie, glancing at Percy and hoping that this conversation was going to go some way towards helping him. "She said she was their older sister, that she should have stopped them joining the Order, that she should have checked up on them that day and they wouldn't have been in that bar when the Death Eaters arrived. It was all rubbish of course. There's no way she could've stopped Uncle Gid and Uncle Fay from doing what they wanted to from what I remember of them, and there was no way she could have prevented the Death Eaters from getting at them. Dad told her that, but I don't think she really believed him. I'm not saying this very well, but-but what I'm _trying_ to say is that when-when someone dies it's natural to try and find a reason, to want to blame someone, even if that person's yourself. D'you see what I mean, Percy? It's-it's natural for you to blame yourself for Fred dying because you were there and couldn't save him. But-but I blame myself too because I wasn't even at Hogwarts when it happened, even though that wasn't my fault. And I bet Mum and Dad blame themselves too. It's a normal reaction, but that doesn't mean it's right." He stopped, hoping that something of what he was trying to get across had registered with Percy, and remembering another part of the overheard conversation that had shocked both him and Bill, and which he had no intention of _ever _repeating in front of George.

Percy and George were silent, digesting what Charlie had just said. Such a long speech from him was highly unusual, as both of them realised.

Eventually, Percy sighed, and took a mouthful of his hot chocolate before speaking. "That makes sense, I guess," he said, his voice so low that his brothers had to strain to hear him, even though he was sitting between them on the bed. "I-I guess I just have to learn to forgive myself. I know everyone else has. I-I know Fred did." His voice broke on a sob, and Charlie put an arm round his shoulders.

"It's over, Percy. It's all forgiven. You know that. And-and it wasn't you fault that Fred died, any more than it was Mum's that her brothers did. You know that too. You just have to let yourself accept it."

Percy nodded. "Yeah, I guess so. Thanks Charlie. That-that helped."

Charlie smiled, and hugged him, sending the remains of his hot chocolate flying over George, who swore loudly. Then, incredibly, all three of them were laughing, and it was some time before Charlie recovered sufficiently to find his wand and clear up the mess.

When Ron banged on the door a few hours later demanding to know if they were ever getting up and coming down to breakfast, all three of them were fast asleep, curled up together on the bed.


	34. Christmas: VI

Arthur needed a look-in. And I sort of committed myself to the second bit by what I made Charlie think in the last part... Hope it makes sense.

This will be the last chapter for a couple of weeks or so as I'm off on holiday on Saturday and won't have a computer. I hope it's enough to keep you going.

Next one will really be happy, I promise.

**IX. Christmas Day 1998 - The Burrow**

Arthur was the first person awake on Christmas morning. Bill, coming downstairs half an hour or so after him, saw a light on in his father's shed and went out to join him. He found Arthur tinkering with a Muggle motorcycle he had procured from a somewhat questionable source.

"Dad? Are you okay?" Bill asked, and his father looked up with a start.

"What? Oh-oh yeah, I'm fine. I just couldn't sleep."

Bill perched on the bench at the end of the shed and regarded his father with some concern. "Don't lie to me, Dad. You're not fine, are you?"

Arthur looked up sharply then ducked his head towards the motorbike again and sighed. "No, not really," he admitted. "I-I just can't see us getting through today with everyone in one piece."

Bill raised his eyebrows questioningly. "Even after last night?"

Arthur smiled slightly. "Last night was good, wasn't it? Those fireworks – well, I knew Fred and George were good at them, but I don't think I ever realised _how_ good. And-and I guess I was worried that George wouldn't be able to carry on with that sort of thing and with the-the shop on his own."

Bill refrained from pointing out that George had Lee and Ron to help him, knowing that that was not what his father meant. And of course there was no way it was the same as having Fred.

"George is doing okay, Dad," he said quietly. "I know last week was awful, but most of the time he just gets on with life and copes. Merlin knows how, but he does. He's going to get through this eventually. We all are."

Arthur sighed, and nodded. "Yeah, I guess you're right. Sorry Bill, I was being maudlin."

Bill smiled and went over to hug his father, looking at the motorbike with some perplexity. "What the hell is that thing supposed to do anyway?"

"It's a motorbike. You ride on it. It has an engine that makes it go – see?"

Bill laughed. "I think I'll stick to brooms." Then he was serious again. "We'll be okay, Dad. And today will be as okay as we can manage too. If someone breaks down – well, we'll deal with it like we have before."

Arthur smiled, and wiped his oily hands on a piece of rag. "I'm sure we will. Let's go and do something about breakfast. I'm hungry."

**X. Christmas Day 1998 - The Burrow and The Graveyard Ottery St. Catchpole**

Christmas breakfast was a noisy affair, and seemed to go on for a long time, as Charlie, Percy and George finally surfaced a good two hours after everyone else – and then only because Ron was sent to fetch them. Everyone was wearing new jumpers, and there were many comments about the luridness of George's "WWW" sweater, Ginny maintaining that she would be unable to look at him without putting a dimming spell on him first. Bill did not fail to notice that both his mother's and his sister's eyes flicked to Fleur's waistline when she entered the room (she had been wrapped in a travelling cloak on the previous evening, making it impossible for them to check it then). He and Fleur exchanged a look that set them both laughing at this, but they refused to enlighten the rest of the family about what the joke was.

When breakfast was finally finished, Molly announced that she was going to the graveyard. "I'm quite happy to go on my own," she said. "But I would feel wrong all day if I didn't go."

Arthur shot her a sharp look, but years of experience had taught him that there were times when arguing with his wife was useless. "I'll come," he said, looking round at everyone else.

In the end, it was decided that they would all go, and there was a scramble to find cloaks and shoes before they Apparated to the graveyard.

It was odd to be spending part of Christmas morning in a graveyard, but there was no denying that it felt like the right thing to do. No one said very much, and Arthur conjured a wreath of Christmas roses and red-berried holly to lay on Fred's grave. Percy spent a long time just sitting by the headstone, his eyes troubled but tearless. George and Charlie regarded him with some concern, but restrained their parents and Bill, who would have gone to him, knowing after the conversation in the early hours of the morning that Percy needed this time alone with Fred.

Oddly, it was Ron, who had grieved for Fred as intensely as anyone, but mostly in private, who was the only person to break down, kneeling by the foot of the grave with silent tears running down his face. Ginny went to him and wrapped her arms round him, and though normally his little sister would be the last person Ron would let see him cry, he sobbed into her shoulder as she rubbed his back and stroked his hair.

George had walked off by himself, and was standing in the only part of the graveyard not shadowed by trees, a little mound that was flower-covered in the spring and summer but now bore nothing but grass and a detritus of dead leaves. Unlike the last time he had been here – was that really only just over a week ago? – he felt almost peaceful and able to talk to Fred without any of the bitterness and anger of nine days previously. Perhaps his family recognised that, as none of them made any bid to go after him. Scrabbling in his pocket, George found a rocket he had deliberately kept over from the night before. He looked back over to where his family surrounded Fred's grave. Even Ron seemed calm now, and Percy's face looked less troubled than it had been for months. Perhaps what Charlie had said to him this morning had finally helped him to let go of some of his guilt. Charlie himself was nowhere to be seen, nor was Bill, but it was clear that the rest of them were readying themselves to leave. George smiled to himself, murmured: "Happy Christmas, Freddie," and lit the rocket with his wand. It was a good one. Red, gold, green, blue and purple fire rained down over the graveyard, and the family looked up, all of them smiling despite where they were.

"You said there were none left," said Ron accusingly, coming to hug George.

"I lied," said George straight-faced, returning the hug. "Anyway there are none left now. Guess what we're making in January, little brother?" Ron grinned, and the two of them walked back to join the others before Apparating back to The Burrow.

Bill and Charlie heard the pops as the rest of their family left for home. They were sitting on a sheltered bench near the gates of the graveyard. Charlie was white-faced, and shaking in a way that had nothing to do with the cold. His lips were set firmly in a line, and he had said nothing since suddenly bolting from the graveside a few minutes earlier. Bill had followed, after a murmured word to Fleur, but Charlie had done his best to ignore his older brother's presence, shaking off the hand Bill had laid on his arm, and turning his face away when Bill spoke to him.

Bill sighed inwardly now, and tried again. "Charlie…?"

"Go home, Bill." At least he was talking.

"No."

"Bill…"

"Mum would have about fifty fits if I left you here on your own, and you know it. You don't have to talk to me if you don't want to, but I'm not going back without you."

Charlie gave a mirthless smile. "Only fifty fits?"

"Maybe sixty." Bill's voice softened. "What's up, Charlie? I might be able to help."

Charlie shook his head and bit his lip. "You can't. No one can."

"Charlie…"

"Just leave me alone, Bill!" Charlie shouted, standing up and striding away from the bench. Bill made no attempt to follow him, but watched, waiting for the moment he hoped would come when Charlie would turn back to him. He knew from experience that it was vital to time things right with Charlie when he was upset. Otherwise he was just as likely to punch you as to accept help.

The moment came. Charlie's head slumped forward, and he lifted his hands to his face, despite the sling, turning blindly back towards his brother as he began to cry. Bill was beside him in a moment, putting his arms round him and guiding him back to the bench, where he sat with his face buried in Bill's cloaked shoulder, shaking with sobs. It was several minutes before Charlie was calm enough to do anything but cling to Bill and cry. Eventually, his sobs ceased, though Bill could feel that he was still shaking and his breath was coming in shuddering gasps.

"Breathe, Charlie," Bill murmured, continuing to hold his brother close. "I thought you were doing okay. What's happened?"

Charlie took some deep breaths, trying to calm himself enough to speak. "It – I – Oh Merlin, this doesn't even make _sense_!" He pulled away from Bill, hiding his face in his bandaged hands.

Bill put a hand on his arm and spoke gently. "What Charlie? Just tell me. I've had years of practice of you not making sense."

Charlie looked up into his brother's scarred face. Bill knew him better than anyone, but he was not sure he could make what he was feeling comprehensible to himself, let alone someone else. Still, he had to try.

"This-this morning – Percy had-had a nightmare. He woke me up. And George. George came into our room too. Percy-Percy still b-blames himself for-for Fred dying." He grimaced. "Guess I didn't help there with what I said to him on Mum's birthday." He stopped, and Bill put an arm around his shoulders.

"That's over Charlie. Percy knows you didn't mean it. I thought that was sorted out between you ages ago."

Charlie swallowed. "Well, it-it w-was, but-but it c-can't help, can it?" He closed his eyes before speaking again, in a monotonous voice that betrayed the fragility of his self-control. "I-I told them about when Uncle G-Gideon and Uncle Fabian d-died. Mum blaming herself. D'you remember?" Bill nodded, but said nothing. Charlie sighed. "I-I wanted to make Percy see that it's normal to blame yourself when someone dies. I mean Mum blaming herself for Gid and Fay's death was nonsense. We could see that even then, and we were only kids. But then-then, I-I remembered the rest of the conversation. Do you remember, Bill?"

Bill's hold round his brother's shoulders tightened. "Yeah, I remember." His voice was hoarse. "Merlin, Charlie, you didn't say anything to Percy and George about _that_?"

"No, of course I didn't. Even _I'm_ not that stupid. To George of all people? Of course not. But-but then this morning, I-I saw their graves, next to Fred's, and- and I just couldn't stand it. D'you think she still thinks that, Bill? That it was better that they died together? Because if she does…" He began to cry again, unable to finish the sentence, but Bill understood.

"Oh Charlie." He pulled his brother close again, blinking back the tears in his own eyes, and trying desperately to marshal his thought into some sort of order so that he could say something to help him. As Charlie's sobs quietened, Bill pulled away from him and looked him in the eye.

"D'you really think she seriously believed that even then?" he asked. "I know we thought she did, but we _were_ only kids, Charlie. Don't you think now that she would've given anything for one of them to have survived? Even though it would have been as hard for him as it is now for George? It was just one of those things that people say when they're trying to make something absolutely awful seem a bit better. It-it would have been horrible for Gideon or Fabian to go on without the other, but if one of them had lived, there's no way Mum would've wished he hadn't. Any more than she wishes George had died too now. You have to see that, Charlie. You just have to…" He was gripping Charlie's shoulders and looking at him almost fiercely in his determination to get his point across.

Charlie smiled despite himself. "Godric, Bill, you can still sound as much like a prefect as Percy when you try. Did you know that?"

Bill gave a shaky laugh, and pulled Charlie into a hug. "Just tell me you get what I'm saying, Charlie, please," he begged. "I'm sure there are times when George thinks it would have been better if he'd died too – in fact, I know there are, because he's told me so – but there's no way anyone else can seriously believe that. Especially not Mum. You must see that."

"Yeah, I guess so," Charlie's voice was shaking, but he seemed calmer now. "I told you it made no sense. It-it was just all going round in my head, and I couldn't get rid of the feeling that it might have been better if George had died too. But-but I couldn't seriously believe Mum would think that. I-I just got so confused I couldn't cope with it. I'm sorry, Bill. I'm an idiot."

Bill shook his head. "No you're not. You can't help the way you feel." He smiled suddenly. "They were cool, weren't they? Uncle Gideon and Uncle Fabian?"

Charlie managed a grin. "Yeah, they were. I don't think any of the others really remember them much. Ron and Ginny were only babies. We were the lucky ones there."

"Yeah we were," his brother agreed. "Are you ready to go home? Before they send out a search party for us?"

Charlie nodded, and they stood up and Apparated together back to The Burrow.


	35. Christmas VII

Not the end of Christmas, but I'm not going to get it all typed up tonight, and I figured it was about time I gave you something. I wrote quite a lot on holiday, so I have a lot of typing to do. (I'm impressed by people who can write straight onto the computer. I need to write by hand first. I guess I'm old-fashioned. Or just old.)

Amy and Laura, the bit I promised you is coming up next.

**XI. Christmas Day 1998 - The Burrow **

Molly, who was supervising several knives chopping vegetables for Christmas dinner, looked up with relief as her two eldest sons came in through the back door, but said nothing. Charlie was still pale-faced, and it was obvious that he had been crying, but it was obvious too that he was more or less alright again now. Not for the first time, Molly wondered how the family would have got through the last six months without Bill, and she smiled at him gratefully.

George and Ron, who were laying the table (without magic, at their mother's insistence) looked up too.

"We thought you'd got lost," George told his older brothers, grinning.

"Just delayed a bit," Bill said. "Good rocket, George!"

George smiled. "I saved the best one," he said. "Thought I might find a use for it today." There was a note of determined cheerfulness in his voice, but Bill saw the sadness in his brother's brown eyes, and squeezed his shoulder as he passed him.

Christmas lunch was a slightly more subdued affair than it had been in previous years, but they managed to get through it relatively happily. Arthur raised his glass and proposed a toast to Fred just before Molly served the pudding, and although several people were blinking hard, they all raised their glasses and called out Fred's name without anyone breaking down.

**XII. Christmas Day 1998 - The Burrow and The Paddock**

After lunch, Molly was planning to listen to a Celestina Warbeck concert on the radio, but her children all felt that two hours of Celestina was more than they could cope with today. Bill, Charlie and Percy had come up with an alternative plan the previous evening while they were waiting for George's show to start. As they were clearing up after lunch, Bill informed his parents that the rest of them were going to leave them to listen to the concert in peace, and were going to play Quidditch in the paddock. Predictably, there were objections.

"Charlie Weasley, you are not seriously considering getting on a broomstick?" shrilled his mother, horrified.

"Calm down, Mum," said Charlie, smiling at her. " I _really_ don't want to end up back at Mungo's. I'm going to watch and referee. I'm not going anywhere near a broom, I promise."

"I am 'opeless at Quidditch," moaned Fleur, with a toss of her silvery mane of hair, but her husband was unsympathetic.

"Ron's just gone to get Hermione from her parents'," he informed her. "She's dreadful too, so as long as you're on opposite teams, it'll be quite fair." Fleur gave him a withering look that did nothing but make him laugh.

There was a double pop in the yard as Ron and Hermione Apparated there. Hermione had obviously been objecting to the Quidditch plan too, as Ron was saying, "As long as you and Fleur aren't on the same side, it'll be fine. You're no worse than she is."

Hermione exchanged an exasperated look with Fleur as she came into the kitchen and went over to kiss Mrs. Weasley. Bill and Ron grinned at each other.

Leaving Arthur and Molly alone in the living room, the rest of the family donned cloaks, scarves and gloves and decamped to the shed, where there was a scramble to collect a broomstick each.

"Who's having Charlie's broom?"

"Me!" yelled Ginny. "Can I, Charlie?"

"Go ahead, I'm not riding it one-handed."

"George, is this yours?"

"No, it's Fred's, but I'll have it. Percy can have mine."

Finally, everyone was equipped with a broom, and Ron unearthed a Quaffle, ancient-looking but still usable, from the very back of the shed.

"Charlie, are you sorting out the teams?"

"Must I?"

"Someone's got to."

"Okay, who's being captains? Bill and Percy?"

"Me? No way, I'm only marginally better than Hermione and Fleur. George can do it."

"Okay, George then. Come on people, or it'll be dark before we've started. Bill, are you having your wife? George gets Hermione then. Who else d'you want George?"

"Ron, and either Harry or Ginny. Bill's not having both of them."

"Thanks George…"

"Anytime, Perce…"

"I'll have Percy and Harry."

"Okay, so I get Ginny. C'mon baby sister."

"Less of the 'baby' you! I'm grown up now, remember?"

"Do you ever let us forget?"

Charlie perched himself on a low branch of an apple tree halfway along the paddock, and the match began. It was hardly classical Quidditch, but it was good fun, even Hermione and Fleur enjoying themselves and managing to touch the Quaffle occasionally. George's team was leading Bill's by nine goals to seven, when the two captains brought the game to an abrupt halt by crashing into each other ten feet above the ground, racing to retrieve the Quaffle that Hermione had dropped. They landed heavily in a tangle of arms and legs, both swearing vociferously. George rolled over onto his feet at once, but Bill remained on the ground, white-faced, clutching his arm and biting his lip hard to stop himself crying out in pain, blood darkening the sleeve of his sweater.

"Godric, Bill, what have you done?" asked George, in a shocked voice, crouching back down beside his brother and putting his arm round his shoulders, as the others landed around them, and Fleur hurried over.

"Stupid scar reopened is all. It's okay, George, it's not your fault." Bill was fighting to keep his voice level, as Fleur rolled up his sleeve, swearing in French at the sight of the long gash on his forearm, and wrapped his arm tightly in a bandage that she had conjured, with a speed and skill that betrayed the fact that this was not the first time she had had to do this.

"Is zat tight enough? We need to stop ze bleeding."

"Any tighter and you'll cut off the circulation altogether. I'm alright, love, don't look so worried." Fleur looked at Bill doubtfully, but he managed to smile at her, and some of the colour was returning to his face.

He looked up at George, who had stood up and who was still looking horrified at what had happened, and grinned. "You were winning anyway, George, you didn't have to try and murder me…"

"Bill, I…" George's voice cracked, and Bill stood up, swaying slightly, and enveloped his brother in a one-armed hug.

"Hey," he said gently. "It was an accident. It's not your fault, George. It happens sometimes. Bloody Greyback…"

That was the end of the game of course. Ron, Harry and Ginny gathered up the scattered broomsticks and the Quaffle, and they all made their way back to the house, Bill supported between George and Fleur, and Charlie leaning heavily on Percy, having to admit reluctantly that he was not quite as fully recovered from the dragon attack as he might like to think.


	36. Christmas VIII

A shortish one to finish off Christmas. The first bit is for Amy and Laura, who told me Teddy needed to make an appearance.

The second bit (sorry, I couldn't resist a bit of George angst) was partly inspired by a pic on Deviantart, which is one of my favourite George-after-Fred-dies pictures: http://toerning dot deviantart dot com/art/this-is-how-i-mourn-60394095 (Replace the "dot" with a "."and leave out the gaps!)

To all my regular reviewers thanks, I love you. If you've been reading , and not reviewing - thanks for reading, how about a review too:-)

New year is next and is angsty. I did say there were more hard times to come!

**XIII. Christmas Day 1998 - The Burrow**

There was some consternation about how they were going to get into the house without Mrs. Weasley seeing Bill and Charlie's pale faces or the fact that Bill was covered in blood, but there was an unfamiliar voice in the living room as they entered the kitchen. Obviously a visitor had arrived, and that proved sufficient distraction for them all to get upstairs without their mother coming out and noticing anything untoward.

When everyone – except Charlie, who had conceded that he needed to lie down for a while – entered the living room, they found Andromeda Tonks sitting drinking tea with Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, while a scarlet and green haired Teddy was sitting on the hearthrug playing with a set of wooden blocks which Molly had dug out from secret store of her own, and which all the Weasley children remembered playing with themselves. Harry cried out in delight at the sight of his godson, and was soon sitting with him on the rug, building him towers which Teddy knocked down with great enjoyment.

Harry refused to relinquish Teddy to his grandmother even at teatime, keeping the baby on his lap throughout and feeding him from his own plate. (Both Mrs. Tonks and Mrs. Weasley keeping a sharp eye on him as he did so.) The number of redheads around the table obviously influenced Teddy. By the end of the meal, he was ginger-headed enough to pass as a Weasley baby, a fact which probably added to the sidelong looks Molly was giving her eldest son and daughter-in-law.

"What've you two done to upset Mum?" asked Ron, as they cleared the table.

"She's jealous," said Bill, laughing. "She wants one of those." And he nodded at the red-headed baby in Harry's arms.

"A baby?" asked Ron incredulously.

"A grandchild, idiot!" his brother told him. "She clearly thinks we should have provided her with one by now."

Ron chuckled. "Well since you've been married well over a year, and she and Dad were only married about five minutes before you were born…"

"It was six months, Ronald!" said his mother sharply, re-entering the room unexpectedly. "And Bill was early."

"Yeah, Mum, sure," said Bill, rolling his eyes. "Do you seriously think any of us still believe that?"

His mother glared at him, and all her children laughed.

"Admit it, Mum," said Charlie. "You were pregnant when you got married. You must have been. We might have fallen for the 'Bill was early' line when we were kids, but not now."

His mother switched her glare to him, but her face was scarlet, and the fact that she didn't answer was taken by all of them as sufficient indication that Charlie was right. She left the room again without saying anything, followed by more laughter from her children.

Andromeda and Teddy left soon after, Mrs. Tonks insisting that it was Teddy's bedtime, despite Harry's objections. The rest of the evening passed quietly, before they all drifted off to bed as midnight approached.

**XIV. Christmas Day 1998 - The Burrow**

Bill and Fleur were among the last to go upstairs, and they heard the unmistakeable sound of crying as they passed the door of what had been the twins' room.

"Bill…" There was a note of pleading in Fleur's voice. "Let someone else go, zhust zis once."

But Bill shook his head. "I'm sorry Fleur, I can't ignore it. I just can't. What if no one else hears? You go on. I won't be long."

Fleur sighed, wishing her husband had less of a sense of responsibility towards his younger siblings, but did not argue further. Bill knocked cursorily on the door of George's room before entering.

"George…?"

George was sitting on Fred's bed. He was in his pyjamas, with an old Christmas sweater over the top of them. He had a matching sweater in his lap, and was tracing the _"F"_ on it with his fingers.

"Oh George." Bill sat beside him on the bed, putting his good arm round his brother.

George buried his face in Bill's shoulder, so that his voice when he managed to speak was muffled. "I told myself I'd get through today without crying."

"Well, you nearly made it. It's ten to twelve."

George laughed shakily. "Almost then. I miss him, Bill. I just miss him. I want him back." His voice cracked.

"I know." Bill felt tears starting in his own eyes as he held his brother close. "We all do Georgie."

The bedroom door opened again, and Percy came in. He said nothing, but came and sat on George's other side, putting a hand on the one of George's that was still clutching Fred's sweater and the other on his brother's shaking shoulders. Slowly, George managed to stop crying, and Bill and Percy felt some of the tension in his body ease.

"Perce…"

"What, George?"

"Would-would you sleep in here with me tonight? I-I don't want to be on my own."

Percy hugged George. "Of course I will." He looked at his oldest brother. "You go to bed, Bill. George'll be okay with me."

Bill stood up. Percy was right. George _would_ be okay with him.


	37. New Year I: Lee and George

Not sure how long New Year will go on. This is a prelude to some George-angst I'm afraid.

(LOL - when I started this story, each event was only going to be one chapter. That fell by the wayside, didn't it?)

**New Year**

**I. 30****th**** December 1998 – Lee and George**

All day Lee had been acutely aware of the letter in his pocket. It had arrived by owl the previous evening, and should have done nothing but make him happy. Hell, it _did _make him happy, but George was having a bad enough day already – despite the _"Sorry, no fireworks" _sign in the window, he had just had what seemed like the twentieth argument of the day with a customer complaining that a joke shop _should _have fireworks at New Year – and Lee knew that what he had to tell him would only make things worse. He sighed. He could chicken out and not tell George till after the New Year he supposed, but that would hardly be fair. And he didn't want to spend the next two days worrying about it. He wanted to get it over with. So, as they were shutting up shop at closing time he broached the subject.

"George..?"

"Mm, what?"

"I need to talk to you before I go."

"That sounds serious." George smiled at him, somewhat wearily. I had been a very long day.

"It is…" Lee glanced at Ron, who took the hint, and disappeared towards the stairs, muttering something about a cup of tea.

"What's up, Lee?" asked George, perching himself on the desk in the tiny office, and looking at his friend with a slightly perplexed expression.

"You're going to hate me for this."

"For fuck's sake, what?"

"I've-I've had a job offer. From the Wizarding Wireless Network. A daily programme of my own. I can't turn it down, George. Hell, I don't want to turn it down. But I feel awful about leaving you in the lurch. I can't carry on working here too – there aren't enough hours in the day."

George's mind was racing. Lee working in the shop had only ever been supposed to be a temporary thing after Fred died, but he had got so used to Lee being there that he had conveniently let himself forget that. What would they do without him? There was no way he and Ron could run the place on their own. They'd have to hire someone else, he supposed, but he hated – _hated_ _– _the idea of a stranger in the shop right now. It was bad enough without Fred as it was; he couldn't cope with someone new too. Verity was long gone – she had been working in Eeylops Owl Emporium since shortly after he and Fred had had to go into hiding at Easter, and George knew she was unlikely to want to come back. So it would mean someone completely new… Belatedly, George realised that Lee was looking at him with a worried expression, waiting for him to say something.

"Congratulations," he managed, hoping his voice didn't sound too flat. "It's what you've always wanted, isn't it?"

"Yeah, but…"

George looked at his friend. Lee clearly felt bad enough about this already, and George realised that despite the impulse to yell at him and ask him how the hell he could abandon him, there was no way he could make him feel worse than he already did.

"It's okay, Lee. It was never supposed to be permanent, you working here. I always knew that."

"I feel awful letting you down. It-it feels like I'm letting Fred down too…"

George shook his head. "Don't be an idiot. I'd never have managed to continue with the shop when-when Fred died without you. I'm grateful. You know that. And-and Fred would be too. There's no way you're letting either of us down. When does this job start?"

"Next week. The eighth. I know that gives you practically no notice, but I only just found out myself. I did the audition ages ago, and I'd nearly forgotten about it. I'm sorry, George."

"It's okay. We'll manage. Don't look so upset, Lee. This is your big break, isn't it?"

"Yeah." Lee smiled finally. "I'm still pinching myself. I can't believe they've really offered it to me – a daily show. I'd've been over the moon if they'd given me a weekly one, but apparently _'Potterwatch' _impressed them."

"I should think it did. It was pretty damn good." George managed to grin at his friend, and wrapped his arms round him in a hug. "Will you still talk to me when you're famous?"

Lee laughed. "I might, if you're lucky. Might even give you my autograph." Lee returned the hug, grateful to have got this difficult conversation over with, and that George had taken it better than he expected. "Look, mate, I have to go. Ange and I are going out to celebrate. I'll see you on Tuesday."

"Yeah, yeah, of course." George was not sorry Lee needed to go. Right now he felt he needed some time on his own to process what Lee had just told him. "Have a good New Year."

"Yeah, you too…" Lee's voice tailed off. Saying that to George felt wrong, as saying "Merry Christmas" had done the previous week. Did wishing George a Happy New Year just rub in the fact that he was facing it without his twin? But not saying it would feel wrong too. Lee didn't know what the answer to that was. He clapped George on the shoulder and turned to go, George following him to lock the shop door behind him.

Once Lee had gone, George leant against the door with his eyes closed. Lee's defection – it felt like a betrayal, though he knew logically that it was nothing of the sort – seemed like more than he could cope with right now. He sighed, and headed for the stairs, wondering if he had the energy to deal with telling Ron, or if he could put it off till tomorrow. He decided to put it off. Ron would probably be furious that he hadn't told him straightaway, but he'd worry about that tomorrow. Right now, all he wanted was a shower and a cup of tea…


	38. New Year II: George and Ron

A shortish one, setting up some Ron-angst and (yet more) George-angst.

Listen to the voices in your head telling you to leave a review!

**New Year**

**II. New Year's Eve 1998 – George and Ron**

"Why the hell didn't you tell me yesterday?" Ron was just as furious as George had feared he would be.

"I don't know, Ron. I just didn't, okay? Lee only told _me _at closing time yesterday."

"Well, I was still there then wasn't I? You could've told me."

"Yeah, I could. I'm sorry, okay? I-I only just found out myself. I wasn't ready to discuss it with anyone." George was failing to keep the impatience out of his voice.

"And I'm only the hired help, so I didn't deserve to know, is that it? You would've discussed it with Fred!" Ron was yelling now.

Something seemed to explode in George's head. All the logical responses to what Ron had just said – that if Fred had still been alive, Lee probably wouldn't have been working in the shop anyway, and Ron certainly wouldn't; that Lee would have told him and Fred together, that Fred was _different _– seemed irrelevant. George launched himself onto his younger brother, and the two of them rolled on the ground, punching and kicking and scratching, both fighting to hurt.

They were in the yard, George having decided that was as good a place as any to break the news of Lee's leaving to Ron without the rest of the family as an audience. But the noise they were making was not going to go unnoticed for long. The back door was flung open, and Bill, Charlie and Percy, who had been drinking tea and talking in the kitchen, emerged.

"What the hell…?" Bill was across the yard and seizing Ron by the arms in a couple of seconds, Percy just behind him making a grab for George, who looked angry enough to punch him as well as Ron.

"Stop it, both of you!" Bill was struggling to maintain his hold on Ron, but was very much the elder brother. "What the hell's all this about?"

Ron shook his head and refused to answer, but reduced his struggles against Bill's hold somewhat.

"None – of – your – _fucking _– business! Keep out of this, all of you!" George was still furious, fighting to free himself from Percy.

Charlie strode across the yard, his wand in his hand. "Stop it, George, if you don't want me to put a body bind curse on you. Just stop it!" George opened his mouth to argue, but saw the look in Charlie's eyes, and was forcefully reminded of the few times his second-oldest brother had been unable to avoid pulling prefect-rank on him and Fred at school. He stopped struggling, and pulled away from Percy's slackening grip, still glaring at Ron.

"What the hell's all this about?" repeated Bill, looking at his two youngest brothers in turn, but both shook their heads and refused to say anything. Bill glanced at Charlie and Percy helplessly, but it seemed that neither of them had any better idea than he did about how to deal with this.

Bill shrugged, letting go of Ron's arms. "I think you'd better both go up to your rooms till you've calmed down," he ordered.

"What the fuck? We're a bit old now for you to tell us what to do aren't we?" demanded George rudely, switching his glare from Ron to Bill.

"Are you? You're not acting like it," Bill growled. "If you'd prefer me to fetch Dad so you can explain yourselves to him, I will." George continued to stare at him, obviously considering whether this was an empty threat or not. After a few seconds, he decided that it wasn't, and turned on his heel and marched into the house, Ron following.

Left alone in the yard, the three older Weasley brothers looked at each other.

"What on earth was all that about?" asked Percy. "Anyone know what they were talking about before they decided to kill each other?" Bill shook his head, and Charlie sighed.

"I got the impression it was something to do with the shop," he said. "But I could be wrong. Where's everyone else, anyway? How did they manage not to hear that racket?"

"Mum and Dad have gone to Auntie Muriel's," said Percy. "And Harry and Ginny have gone to see Teddy. Hermione's at her parents', of course. Where's Fleur?"

"Being lazy," said Bill. "I think she's still in bed. She was half an hour ago anyway."

"I need more tea," announced Charlie, leading the way back into the kitchen. "Or something stronger, while we decide what we're going to do about those two idiots. I assume you don't really want to involve Dad, Bill?"

Bill shook his head. "Not if we can avoid it."

Percy disappeared into the living room and reappeared with a bottle of firewhisky and three glasses. The three of them sat around the kitchen table and looked at each other.

"I reckon we give them some time to calm down before we try and tackle either of them," proposed Charlie. "I don't think we'll get much sense out of them right now."

The other two nodded. They sat and drank their firewhisky in silence for some time. There wasn't really a great deal to say when none of them had any idea what George and Ron had been fighting about.

Eventually, Charlie drained his glass and stood up. "D'you think we've given 'em long enough?" he asked.

"No idea," replied Bill. "We can try anyway. Both together, or separately, do you reckon?"

"Separately, I should think," said Charlie, frowning. "Look, Bill, d'you want to talk to Ron, and Percy and I will try and get some sense out of George?"

Bill and Percy nodded, and the three of them made their way upstairs, Bill leaving Charlie and Percy outside George's room, while he went on up to Ron's attic bedroom.


	39. New year III: Ron and Bill

Three chapters in one weekend! Next one isn't finished yet, so might be a while

This is for MBP.

**New Year**

**III. New Year's Eve 1998 – Ron and Bill**

There was a muttered, "Come in if you must," in response to Bill's knock on Ron's door, and he entered to find Ron lying on his bed gazing moodily at the ceiling, his face covered with blood, his nose swollen, and one eye rapidly turning purple.

"Sit up and let me fix your face," Bill said, and Ron complied grudgingly.

Bill pointed his wand at his brother and muttered _"Episkey"_, restoring Ron's appearance to something like normal. "Go and wash and then come back here," ordered Bill. Ron looked like he would like to argue, but obviously decided that there was no point with Bill in his most dictatorial elder brother mood. A few minutes later, he returned, looking more or less okay again, but still frowning dangerously. Bill sighed inwardly. This was not going to be easy.

"Are you going to tell me what that was all about?" he asked mildly, throwing a heap of clothes off the chair and onto the floor and sitting down.

Ron glared at him. "It's none of your business, Bill. You can't make me tell you. Unless you're planning to use Veritaserum on me?"

"Don't be a git, Ron. Of course I'm not. But I do mean to sort this out before Mum and Dad get back."

"You'd better talk to George then. He started it."

"That doesn't surprise me. But you were giving as good as you got. Tell me what made you so angry."

"Lee's resigned."

"And…? Why does that make you and George try and kill each other?"

"He didn't tell me. Lee told him yesterday at closing time, but he didn't reckon I was important enough to bother telling until today."

"Did he say that?" Bill asked, raising his eyebrows.

Ron glowered at him. "Not in so many words, no. He just said he wasn't ready to discuss it with anyone then."

"Well, that seems reasonable to me. Why is it such a big deal that you have to beat him up over it?" Bill was genuinely puzzled, and Ron muttered something under his breath that Bill didn't hear.

"What?" he asked.

Ron turned his face away from his brother and repeated, "He would've discussed it with Fred."

Bill let out a long breath. So _that _was what was at the bottom of this. He could see Ron's point of view, but he could understand George's feelings on the subject too. It was reasonable that Ron would expect George to treat him as something more than an employee, but Bill could see that George would probably feel that it was far too soon after Fred's death to think about handing a share of the running of the business over to anyone else, even his brother.

"Yeah, he would," Bill said slowly. "But…"

"But I'm not Fred," cut in Ron impatiently. "Yeah, yeah, I know. Honestly Bill, I don't expect him to treat me as if I were Fred, really I don't. But I did hope that after six months slogging my guts out for him, he'd see me as something more than the hired help."

Bill frowned. "Are you sure that he doesn't?" he asked quietly. "Have you actually talked to him about it? Talked as opposed to fought, I mean."

Ron's ears were red, and he shook his head. "No. I mean – it's not exactly an easy conversation to start is it? 'Hey, George, give me a share in your shop.' He'd _really _go for that… I was sorta hoping he'd broach the subject sooner or later."

Bill frowned again, considering. "He still might, but… It's early days, yet, Ron. It's only six months since Fred died. I honestly don't think George is ready to even think about giving away Fred's share of the shop yet. It'd be one more step towards admitting that Fred's gone forever."

Ron's eyes widened as he looked at his brother. "What? He knows that. He has to know that. Fred's dead, for Merlin's sake. Are you seriously telling me that George of all people doesn't know that?"

Bill's voice was quiet as he answered. "Of course he knows it. He's probably aware of it every minute of every single day, even more than the rest of us are. But accepting it is something different, and I really don't think George has done that yet. Hell, Ron, I'm not even sure that I have. Have you?"

Ron shook his head, blinking rapidly and turning away from Bill so that he wouldn't see the tears in his eyes. He was rapidly losing his battle for self-control, and Bill could tell. He moved to sit behind Ron on the bed, putting a hand on one of his brother's shoulders.

"It's okay to cry, Ron," he said quietly. "And the world won't end if you let other people see you cry. You'll hardly be the only one." Ron's back remained stiff and unmoving for a few more seconds, and Bill could hear him gasping as he fought to control himself. But it was not long before he had to give up all pretence, and he turned to Bill, burying his face in his shoulder as he cried.

"He-he-he was my b-big brother. Big brothers aren't supposed to go and die on you."

Bill's arms tightened around Ron. "Nor are little brothers…"

Gradually, Ron managed to control himself, and he pulled away from Bill, scrubbing at his eyes with his fists.

"S-sorry," he muttered.

"You don't need to be. I told you, it's okay to cry."

Ron shook his head. "It-it doesn't feel like it sometimes. Especially when it must be so much worse for George."

"That doesn't mean it's not tough for the rest of us. It's not a competition, Ron."

Ron half-smiled. "George told me that when we had that row when you were in Romania with Charlie. Well, he didn't so much tell me as yell it at me…"

"What row? First I've heard of it."

"Didn't Fleur tell you? She _must_ have told you. I was – I was horrible to her."

"That's news to me. She didn't say anything about it. Did you apologise?"

Ron's ears were rapidly turning scarlet. "Well, yeah… once Hermione made me see sense."

Bill grinned. "Hooray for Hermione. Look, Ron, if you apologised to Fleur and it was finished by the time I came back, she _wouldn't_ say anything to me. She'd see it as being over. She wouldn't think it was fair to tell me then."

"Really?"

"Yeah, really."

Ron sighed. "We were all wrong about Fleur, weren't we?" he said, his face now as red as his ears. "She's okay, really."

"I always thought so," said his brother dryly. "I'm glad you've come round to my point of view. It was pretty tough on her, you know, when everyone made it so clear they thought I was making a big mistake in marrying her."

It was impossible for Ron to go any redder, but he did look even more shame-faced than before. "Yeah, " he mumbled. "Sorry."

Bill hugged him briefly. "It's over with now. And it wasn't just you. Charlie was the only one who trusted me enough to know I was doing the right thing."

There was a brief silence between them.

"We seem to have got off the subject rather," said Bill finally. "You do need to talk to George, Ron. About where you're going with the shop. But I don't think you can push him too much. He's not ready for that yet."

Ron sighed. "Yeah, you're right. I'll try. And I'm sorry for being such a git."

"S'okay. You could hardly be expected just to take it when George started thumping you. But go easy on him, Ron. I think he's having a pretty hard time still."

"I'll try," Ron said again. "Do you have to go and talk to him now? It must be tough being the oldest."

"Bill smiled. "Yeah, but I guess being the youngest-but-one has its moments too. Anyway, I got out of tackling George. Charlie and Percy are doing that. I hope they've made him see sense, but I wouldn't be surprised if they haven't. P'rhaps we ought to go down and see."

Ron nodded, and the two of them went downstairs together.

Charlie and Percy were back in the kitchen, drinking yet more tea, and looking gloomy when Bill and Ron entered. They looked up as Bill and Ron came in, and Charlie grimaced at Bill.

"Looks like you had more luck than we did," he said. "George wouldn't even let us fix his face, let alone talk to us. Are you okay, Ron?"

Ron nodded. "Yeah. I-I'm going for a walk. I want to be on my own for a bit." He went out of the back door, and the others saw him crossing the yard to the orchard.

"_Is _he okay?" Percy asked Bill, as Bill joined them at the table, reaching for the teapot and a mug.

"More or less, I think," Bill replied with a sigh. Briefly, he told them the gist of his conversation with Ron.

Charlie sighed too. "I can see his point," he said. "He's worked bloody hard in the shop since Fred died. It would have gone under without him, especially the times when George wasn't fit to do anything. But you're right Bill, George isn't ready to hand over Fred's share to anyone yet."

"I think Ron does see that," said Bill. "But it's hard for him. And now they'll have to find someone to replace Lee. There's no way two people can run it for any length of time."

"Did Ron say why Lee was going?" asked Percy.

Bill shook his head. "No. But him working there was only supposed to be temporary all along I think. I reckon George had hoped it would become permanent though. That's probably one reason he's so upset now." He drained his cup and stood up. "I'm going to see if Fleur's ever going to get up today," he said. "See you later."

Left alone, Charlie and Percy looked at each other.

"Poor Bill," sighed Percy. "Do you think he's _ever _going to stop feeling responsible for the rest of us?"

"Shouldn't think so," replied Charlie, shaking his head. "I don't think he can help it. I don't think he even realises he's doing it half the time. I'm glad I'm not the oldest."

Percy smiled. "Me too. D'you want to go to the pub before lunch? I've got some Muggle money."

Charlie nodded, and the two of them set off together for the village.


	40. New Year IV: Mostly George

Not sure about this chapter. It took me a long time to write, and I'm still not certain it's quite how I want it. I have to say though, that it is the very first of my chapters that has had _me _nearly in tears. Poor Georgie!

Despite this angst-ridden chapter, the next one should be unexpectedly cheerful if it goes to plan.

Please review and tell me what you think!

**New Year**

**IV. New Year's Eve 1998 – Mostly George**

The others were eating lunch in the kitchen when George finally came down from his room.

"I'm going to the shop," he said abruptly. "I'm only telling you 'cause I promised Mum I wouldn't go off on my own without telling someone. I'll be back later."

It was clear from his whole demeanour that he had no intention of discussing this with anyone, and his brothers could tell that there was no point in trying to talk to him right now.

"Okay," said Bill. "D'you want me to fix your face before you go?"

"What? Oh – err – yeah, please."

Bill stood up and pointed his wand at George's face and murmured, _"Episkey"_. George's black eye and swollen lip healed immediately.

"Thanks," George muttered, and disappeared out of the back door as fast as he could. They heard the crack as he Disapparated in the yard.

"Damn," said Bill quietly, rejoining the others at the table. "I had hoped he'd be ready to discuss things by now." Fleur gave him a sympathetic look and squeezed his hand.

"He might in a bit," said Percy. "But we can't make him if he doesn't want to." He looked at his youngest brother, who was red-faced. "Don't look so guilty, Ron. It's not your fault. If George wants to behave like an idiot, that's his choice."

No one said anything: there didn't seem to be anything more to say.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

George Apparated directly into the flat above the shop. He made himself a coffee, poured a generous shot of firewhisky into it, and went downstairs to the shop itself. He wasn't really sure why he was here. He wasn't sure how he was feeling, or how he was _supposed_ to be feeling. Mostly, he decided, he was just bloody _angry_, though whether with Lee, or Ron, or himself, or with Fred, for sodding _dying_ and leaving him with this mess, he wasn't sure. He sat down behind the counter, taking a gulp of his drink, and looked around. They had been so busy yesterday that they hadn't kept up with replenishing the shelves, so there were a lot of gaps that would need filling on Tuesday. But there were still brightly coloured boxes, tubs and bags surrounding him; trick wands and shield cloaks; edible lightning scars (Harry had been livid with him about those); headless hats and Skiving Snackboxes; decoy detonators, Wonderwitch products, Patented Daydream Charms…. He sighed. This was all he and Fred had ever wanted, and they had got it. _He_ had got it. Right now, he felt as if he would be happy never to see the bloody place ever again.

George closed his eyes and took another mouthful of his drink. The combination of hot coffee and spirits scalded the back of his throat. A small part of his brain registered the fact that drinking firewhisky on a practically empty stomach – he had only managed half a slice of toast for breakfast and had had no lunch – was a bad idea. The rest of his brain didn't give a damn.

He felt tears pricking the back of his eyes, and knew that they were tears of self-pity, not of sorrow for his twin. Fred would be ashamed of him, but right now he couldn't even care about that.

"I can't do this," he muttered, as he finished his drink and the tears spilled over. "I can't do this without you, Fred, so you can think what you fucking well like. You were the one who left me to cope. Well, I can't, okay? I just can't."

He stood up, barely aware of what he was doing, but so angry and miserable that he had to let it out somehow. He swept his arm along a shelf full of Skiving Snackboxes, sending them crashing to the floor. He tipped over a unit full of shield hats, cloaks and gloves. He threw over a dump bin full of trick wands. Tears were streaming unchecked down his face, and his breath was coming in harsh gasps.

"I can't do this!" he shouted. "Hear me, Fred? I can't. I just can't."

By the time his anger was spent, most of the shelves were empty, and the floor was covered in a mixture of broken glass, potions, powders, boxes and general joke shop paraphernalia.

George looked at the destruction he had caused, and laughed bitterly. "See Fred," he gasped. "You always said you were the clever one. Perhaps you could've coped with this, but I can't. Okay? Happy now? Are you?"

Turning his back on the chaos in the shop, he went back up to the flat, grabbed the half-full bottle of firewhisky from the kitchen and lay on the settee, drinking several mouthfuls of the spirit straight from the bottle. All he wanted just now was some nice friendly oblivion. But after a few minutes, he sighed, and put the lid back on the bottle. He was drunk enough already. He closed his eyes, trying not to imagine what his mother would say. And he had promised that he would go home later …. Despite the turmoil in his mind, he slept.

He woke a few hours later to the sound of someone hammering on the shop door, and a furious voice calling his name. He rolled over and stood up, and made it to the bathroom just in time before he threw up. The hammering on the door was still continuing, competing with the hammering in his head.

"Okay, okay, I'm coming," he muttered, staggering over to the stairs and miraculously managing to descend them without falling down.

"_Where the hell were you?" _Katie yelled at him before the door was even fully open. "We had a date, remember? I do _not _appreciate being stood up, George Weasley!" Belatedly, she took in George's dishevelled appearance and the chaos in the shop behind him.

"What the hell? George, are you _drunk_?"

"Bit," he muttered, holding onto the door to keep himself upright.

"And you did this?" demanded Katie incredulously, gesturing at the mess.

He nodded, and her anger evaporated, to be replaced by a kind of concerned exasperation. "George, you are the world's biggest _idiot_!" she said. "What the hell d'you think Fred would say if he could see this? If he could see _you_?"

Tears overflowed from George's eyes at this, and she sighed. "Okay, don't answer that," she said. "C'mon. Upstairs. Let's sort _you _out, and then we can start on the shop."

She pulled the door shut behind them, locked it, and shepherded George back up the stairs to the flat, depositing him on the settee, retrieving the bottle of firewhisky from the floor, and going into the kitchen to make some strong coffee, which she insisted George drink, despite his protests. She was just wondering what the best course of action was now, when there was a fresh knocking on the door below. Looking out of the window, she saw two unmistakeably Weasleyish red heads.

"Whozit?" asked George, who was looking marginally better now he had drunk the coffee, and managed to keep it down.

"Ginny and – not sure – one of your brothers. Percy, I think. I'm going to let them in. You stay here." She disappeared, to reappear a few minutes later with Ginny and Percy in tow.

Ginny ran over and put her arms round George, looking half furious and half ready to burst into tears.

"George, you are an idiot," she choked. "How the hell is this going to _help_?"

This was too much for George, who began to cry, shuddering sobs racking his whole body. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't mean… I was just so-so fucking angry… I'm sorry…"

Ginny rocked him in her arms, and looked at Percy and Katie. "What're we going to do?" she asked. "Mum's expecting us back for tea, but if we take him back in this state, she'll have hysterics."

"We can't take him home." Percy spoke with uncharacteristic decision. "I'll stay here with him tonight." He grimaced. "We'll have to tell Mum and Dad why though. They're not going to fall for any excuses."

Ginny nodded slowly, still holding George tightly. "I guess not," she said. "Are you sure though Percy? It doesn't seem very fair on you."

"I'm sure," said Percy, nodding. "Someone's got to do it. Bill and Fleur deserve some time together; Charlie's not well enough, and Ron's a very bad idea in view of what happened this morning. That leaves me or you, and I'm better able to handle him in this state than you are. It's okay, Ginny. I don't mind, really."

"Yeah, but…" Ginny glanced at Katie, and bit back what she was going to say. Pointing out that Percy hadn't been at home for the last three New Years would not be exactly tactful in front of her.

Katie hadn't spoken since Percy and Ginny came in, but now she sat down on George's other side, putting a hand on his back. "What about the shop?" she asked quietly, feeling George stiffen as she asked it.

"It-it's finished," he croaked. "It's such a mess, there's no way we can put it right. I've-I've ruined everything. I'm sorry…" He began to cry again, quietly this time.

"It's not finished." Katie spoke firmly. "We can sort it out. I'll get Lee and Angelina and Oliver and Alicia to come over tomorrow. We can sort it out between us, George, really."

"Do you think so?" George's voice was still slurred and his eyes full of tears, but there was a gleam of hope behind the tears that Katie could see when he turned to her.

"I do," she said. "We can do it, George. And we'll talk about finding someone to replace Lee then too. It's not the end of the world him leaving, George. You can get through this."

"Katie's right, George," said Percy, crouching down in front of the settee, and looking his brother in the eyes. "We can fix this between us. I'll help too, and Ginny will, and expect we can rope in the rest of the family as well."

"Ron won't want to help," George growled. "He won't even talk to me after this morning, I bet."

Ginny's arms tightened around George as Percy spoke. "He will, George. You can sort things out between you. It'll be okay, George, really it will."

Despite everything, George felt warmed and comforted by Percy and Katie's certainty that they could put right the mess he was in, and by Percy's willingness to look after him when he thought that he deserved nothing but condemnation and to be left severely alone.

"Thanks," he murmured. "Thanks, all of you." Katie kissed him, and the other two smiled.

"You're an idiot, but we love you, Georgie," whispered Ginny, hugging him, and Percy nodded, squeezing his brother's hands. George had come through a lot in the last six months. He would get through this too, with their help.


	41. New year V: George, Percy and Bill

Okay, cheerfulness postponed as this chapter wanted to come in first. I thought Bill should say this to George himself, as well as to Charlie...

Thanks if you've stuck with the story this long. Please review as well as reading.

**New Year**

**V. New Year's Day 1999 – George, Percy and Bill**

New Years Day dawned clear and bright and cold, with frost on the cobbles and ice crisping the puddles. George, nursing a bad hangover, was not in any condition to appreciate the beauty of the day, though Percy, opening the curtains to let in the wintry sunshine (despite his brother's objections) smiled at the scene outside. Most of the shops were closed today, but there were a few people out and about, and Percy realised that the chaos in the shop would be at least partially visible from outside. The last thing he wanted was a concerned neighbouring shopkeeper coming to ask if there'd been a burglary or something.

With a quick: "Be back in a few minutes. Don't even _think _of touching the Firewhisky," (which he'd hidden anyway) to George, Percy descended the stairs, pulling out his wand as he went.

He pointed it at the large shop windows, murmuring, _"Obscuro lumanis"_, and a grey film appeared over them, blocking the view from outside, but still letting light into the shop. He found parchment and a quill, and wrote a notice which he hung on the door. _"Refurbishing. Open as usual tomorrow." _He hoped that last bit was true.

Stepping outside to view the effect, Percy smelt fresh bread and realised how hungry he was. George and Ron lived on takeaway food when they were at the shop as far as he could tell, and beyond the basics of tea, coffee, stale bread and a few tins of soup and beans, he had found very little edible in their tiny kitchen the night before. He checked his pockets and found he had no money, so re-entered the shop and shamelessly raided the till – this was for George's benefit after all as well as his own – before heading down Diagon Alley to Bettina Bewlock's Bakery, which apparently opened even at eight in the morning on New Years Day.

Returning to the shop ten minutes later, Percy found George standing by the counter, drinking black coffee and regarding the mess gloomily. There was a look of lost desolation in his eyes that made Percy's heart hurt. He forced himself to smile, dumped his bags on the floor, and pulled George into a brief hug.

"C'mon," he said, gesturing to the bags. "Breakfast."

George groaned. "Must I?"

"Yes, you must. I'm your big brother, and for once in your life, George, you're going to do as I tell you."

"Perfect Prefect Percy," muttered George, the corner of his mouth twitching, but Percy refused to rise to the bait.

They were just finishing breakfast, when there was a crack from the shop, and Bill came up the stairs and into the kitchen.

"Well, at least you're upright," he said, grinning at George. "But I've seen you look better. Here," - he held out a small stoppered bottle – "Present from Charlie."

"What the hell's that?" demanded George, looking dubiously at the murky green liquid in the bottle.

"Romanian hangover cure potion," Bill told him. "Charlie says it tastes disgusting, but it works, and he should know."

George did not look enthusiastic. Percy _accio_'d a glass from the cupboard, poured the potion in, and set it in front of him.

"Drink it," he ordered. "We need you to be with it later, if we're going to get the shop sorted today."

George grimaced at him, and gulped the potion down. "Godric!" he gasped. "That stuff's foul. Makes Polyjuice Potion taste like pumpkin juice! It'd better bloody work…"

Fortunately it did. Within minutes, George was feeling human again, though the taste of Charlie's potion still lingered, and he poured himself more coffee in an effort to get rid of it.

"George…" Bill accepted a cup of coffee from Percy, and sat down at the table with his brothers. "Can I talk to you about Ron without you getting mad at me?"

George's face reddened. "I'll apologise to him," he said hastily. "I shouldn't've jumped him like that, I know I shouldn't. I was just so bloody upset at Lee leaving, and when Ron said I should have told him earlier – well, I know I should, but I just couldn't face it – and then-then he said that about-about I would've discussed it w-with Fred…" He was close to tears now, and Bill reached across the table and squeezed his hand. "I know I should've told him before," George choked, "But when-when he said that… I can't treat him as if he was Fred. I can't. I just can't. If he expects that…"

"He doesn't," said Bill firmly, still holding George's hand. "But I do think he'd like you to trust him a bit more with the running of the business, George. He's worked bloody hard for you over the last six months, and I think he thinks you're taking him for granted rather."

George pulled his hand away from Bill's and stood up, crossing the kitchen to stand at the window. He rested his forehead against the cold glass, looking at the wintry scene below without taking any of it in, and fighting the sobs rising in his throat. Bill exchanged a glance with Percy, worried he had said too much, but when he made to stand up and go to George, Percy grabbed his arm and shook his head, mouthing, "Give him a minute or two," to him.

Within a few minutes, George had mastered himself enough to be able to speak, though he still kept his face resolutely turned away from Bill and Percy. "I-I guess I have taken advantage of Ron," he admitted. "This place would've gone under without him since-since Fred d-died." He stopped, and swallowed hard before going on. "I-I'll try and let him have more say in the running of it, but…" George began to cry in earnest now, and Bill crossed the kitchen and put his arm round him. George turned and buried his face in his brother's shoulder, so that his next words were muffled. "I'll try, I really will, but… I can't – I can't give him Fred's share of the shop. Not yet anyway. It-it doesn't f-feel as if it's mine to give away. And-and it-it's n-not like it was with Fred. We-we didn't need to discuss things – we thought the same way, we-we understood each other without having to explain things." He choked and gasped, and Bill tightened his hold on him, as Percy came to stand behind him, putting one hand on his heaving shoulders, and rubbing his back with the other. "It hurts – it hurts so much," choked George. "Knowing that's gone forever. I'll never have that with anyone else, ever. I miss him so much. It hurts all the time, all the time. I don't – I don't know how to bear it sometimes. I just don't."

"Oh George…" Bill and Percy held their younger brother tightly, knowing there was absolutely nothing they could say or do to take his pain away, and both wishing desperately that there was.

"S-sorry." George pulled away from Bill and Percy, scrubbing his face with his hands and trying to stop crying. "I – sometimes it-it's j-just too much. I'm sorry."

"You don't need to be sorry, George," whispered Percy, his own voice shaking. "It-it hurts like hell for us too, so what it must be like for you… I-I just wish we could help somehow." Bill nodded, blinking hard and biting his lip.

"George managed a watery smile. "You do – you do help all of you," he muttered. "I know – I know I'm not on my own, even if it feels like it sometimes. I might seem like an ungrateful git at times, but I am grateful really. I'd-I'd've topped myself months ago without you lot and Lee and Katie, really I would."

Percy put an arm round George and pulled him close again. "Don't George, please," he whispered. "Don't even think that. If-if it gets that bad, you-you have to come to one of us or to Mum and Dad. I-I know it's not the same, and none of us can do anything to bring Fred back, but we can't lose you too. Fred would never forgive us."

"I-I know," George murmured into Percy's shoulder. "I-I don't think I'm brave enough to actually go through with doing anything like that anyway. And I couldn't do it to Mum and Dad. But-but sometimes carrying on is just so _hard_."

Bill's voice was shaking as he put his hand on George's shoulder. "Sometimes living is the hardest and the bravest thing, Georgie," he said hoarsely. "You're about the bravest person I know."

George pulled away from Percy and regarded his eldest brother with eyes wide with astonishment. "You're mad," he told him incredulously. "I'm not brave. If-if I was, this…" he gestured vaguely round "… wouldn't've happened, and I wouldn't've ended up in Mungo's, or-or had that breakdown in September, or-or _anything_. You're nuts if you think I'm brave. Fred was the brave one, not me. He might've been able to cope with this, but I can't. I feel like I'm barely keeping my head above water most of the time."

"But you carry on, George, that's the point," said Bill firmly, grabbing George's shoulders and bending slightly so that he looked his brother in the eyes. "Okay, you've had bad times, but you've come through them. And most of the time you just carry on with the everyday business of living. That's brave, in my opinion, and I think – I _know_ – Fred would be proud of you."

George shook his head. "You _are_ nuts. If-if I'd died, F-Fred would've coped so much better than me."

"No he wouldn't." Bill was adamant. "He might've come across as maybe louder and braver and more independent that you, but he wasn't really, and you know it. You _must _know it since you knew him better than anyone. You _know_ he relied on you just as much as you relied on him. More even, maybe. Look at how upset he was when you got hurt getting Harry away from the Dursleys'."

George grinned faintly. "Yeah, maybe," he admitted, "He barely let me out of his sight for a fortnight afterwards. Bloody annoying, it was…"

Bill smiled and hugged George. "See?" he asked. "He wouldn't've coped with this any better than you are, and he'd be bloody proud of how you're carrying on. The rest of us are."

"Bill's right, George," Percy said quietly. "I know it's hard, but you really are doing amazingly well, despite the bad days. We're proud of you, all of us."

George was blinking rapidly and scrubbing at his eyes again. "Don't make me cry again," he implored. "I don't think I can cope with you being nice to me…" He managed a shaky laugh, and Bill and Percy laughed too, their arms tangled in a three-way hug.


	42. New Year VI: George and Katie

**Newsflash:** Bad Mum has written a happy chapter! Specially for Rosebud and Maria! With some (implied) snogging for Cassandra!

Next one should be happyish too, before more angst (though not George-angst for once) in the next.

Thanks for reading. Please take the time to review too!

**New Year**

**VI. New Year's Day 1999 – George and Katie**

There was a knock on the shop door below, and the three brothers pulled apart.

"It's Katie," said Bill, looking out of the window. Neither he nor Percy missed the way George's eyes lit up at this. "I'll go and let her in," Bill continued. "Go and make yourself look respectable, George." He squeezed George's arm, and headed for the stairs. George disappeared into the bathroom and Percy began to clear up the breakfast things.

"How's George?" Katie asked breathlessly, the minute Bill had the door open to let her in.

Bill smiled at her eagerness. "Physically okay, thanks to a hangover cure of Charlie's. Emotionally…" he hesitated, "…a bit fragile.

Katie grimaced. "Isn't he always?" She sighed. "I wish I could do more to help him."

"You help a lot more than you realise, I think," said Bill. "Did you get hold of Lee and the others?"

Katie nodded. "Yeah. They're all coming by about twelve o'clock. I had plans to take George somewhere beforehand if that's okay with you."

Bill grinned. "You hardly need my permission do you? Sounds like a good idea to me. Percy and I will go home, and meet you back here at twelve – hopefully with the rest of the family in tow."

Katie nodded again, looking round at the shop. "It's a mess, isn't it?" she sighed. "I think it looks worse in daylight somehow."

"Yeah." Bill sighed too. "But we'll sort it out. There'll be enough of us. Go on up and find George, Katie."

Twenty minutes later, Bill and Percy were back at The Burrow, and George and Katie were walking down Diagon Alley towards The Leaky Cauldron hand-in-hand.

"Where are we going?" George asked for the third time, but Katie refused to enlighten him.

She towed him through The Leaky Cauldron and onto the Muggle street outside. Spotting a taxi, she waved her hand imperiously at it to stop, bundled George into it and gave the driver the name of a place that George had never heard of.

"Have you got Muggle money to pay for this?" George asked her worriedly.

"Course I have," she reassured him, grinning. "I work in a bank, don't I? And I _do_ know what I'm doing. My Mum's Muggleborn you know, and I've spent a fair bit of time with her family. She didn't disown them when she found out she was a witch."

"Guess I'll just have to trust you then," said George. "Are you ever going to tell me where we're going?"

"You'll see. It's not far now."

Five minutes later, the cab stopped at the edge of a large common, crowded with colourful tents, caravans, stalls and a variety of mechanical contraptions that George could only guess at the purpose of, one or two of which he thought looked frankly terrifying.

"What the hell?" he asked, gazing open-mouthed as Katie paid the taxi driver.

"Muggle fairground," Katie told him briskly, laughing at his expression, and slipping her arm through his. "You are going to love it, I promise."

"I'll take your word for it," he said dubiously, and Katie laughed again, and stood on tiptoe to kiss him.

"C'mon," she said. "Ghost train first. It's hysterical."

By the time they emerged from the ghost train fifteen minutes later, they were both laughing.

"Was that – was that white thing in the sheet really supposed to be a ghost?" George asked breathlessly. "I don't believe even the stupidest Muggle would find that frightening."

Katie grinned. "They don't. They think it's funny too. What next?"

"Don't ask me. You're the expert."

Katie thought for a moment, then headed for the dodgems, which George loved so much he insisted on a second go.

"Fred would've loved those," he said somewhat wistfully, as they got out of the bright orange car.

Katie squeezed his arm. "You and Fred together in one of those would've been lethal. You were dangerous enough on your own. Big wheel next, I think." She slipped her arm through George's and pulled him over to the Ferris wheel.

"You've got to be kidding me," George said, half-laughing. "Up there? Seriously?"

Katie laughed. "Don't be a wimp, George. Why ever not? It's safer than being on a broom."

George frowned. "Doesn't look it to me, but okay. You're the boss." He soon discovered that the big wheel was not nearly as terrifying as it looked. Indeed, with Katie snuggled beside him it had definite potential for togetherness…

Katie glanced at her watch as they alighted from their second go. "We need to leave soon, or everyone else'll be at the shop before us."

George made a face. "I'd almost forgotten about that…"

Katie hugged him, "Well, forget about it for a few more minutes. We've still got time for you to win me a teddy bear or something."

"Do you_ want _a teddy bear?"

"Not particularly, but it's sort of traditional for blokes to try to win a cuddly toy for their girlfriends. It's part of the whole experience."

"Okay. What do I have to do?"

"Shoot a target or knock some coconuts down. Which do you fancy?"

George looked doubtful. "Coconuts I guess. Will you let me off if I don't win something?"

"I'll consider it. Come on." She led him over to the coconut shy, where his experience aiming Bludgers stood him in good stead. Within a few minutes, Katie was the proud possessor of a slightly mournful looking teddy bear, nearly as big as she was.

"He reminds me of someone," George observed, regarding the bear critically. "But I can't think who."

Katie considered. "Yeah, he does look a bit familiar. Perhaps it'll come to us later." She looked at her watch again. "We need to go. Was I right? Did you enjoy it?"

George smiled at her and pulled her into his arms. It was some time before they rescued the teddy discarded on the ground beside them and went in search of a taxi back to The Leaky Cauldron.


	43. New Year VII: Practically everyone

I know this chapter has been a long time coming - I had dreadful writers' block over it, and it would **not** go the way I wanted. A couple of things I wanted to happen here simply refused to, so there will be a New Year postscript when they do, before Lee's birthday, which I have arbitrarily placed in January...

As always, please review. Cyberchocolate for those who do!

**New Year**

**VII. New Year's Day 1999 – Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes and The Burrow**

The rest of George's family, with Harry and Hermione, were already at the shop when he and Katie arrived, and Lee, Angelina, Oliver and Alicia got there shortly afterwards. Ron looked at George somewhat warily, and Lee looked as if he were blaming himself for what had happened. George groaned inwardly at the thought of having to make things right with both of them, but knew that he had to do it.

Within a few minutes, everyone was busy sorting through the debris on the floor, discarding what was not salvageable and putting the rest in piles to be repaired or simply replaced on the shelves. The useful and the useless was so mixed up that this part had to be done by hand. Once they knew what they had to work with, they would be able to use magic. Katie's teddy bear was given place of honour on the counter to supervise proceedings. Several people looked at it quizzically, but no one was more able than Katie and George to decide who he reminded them of.

Once everyone was busy, George managed to detach Lee from the others, and the two of them went into the tiny office behind the shop.

"George, I feel awful about this…" Lee began, but George cut him short.

"It's not your fault, Lee, so don't. It was nothing but my own idiocy. I just – lost it – for a bit. Every time I think I'm doing okay, something throws me for a loop again. But it wasn't your fault, really it wasn't." He swallowed, but continued. "I said the other day that you weren't letting me or Fred down, and I meant it. Don't think that you are, Lee, please."

Lee looked at his friend doubtfully, but could see that he meant what he said. "I – okay then," he said quietly. "I'll try not to, but I know I've left you in the lurch. I wouldn't have done it if I could help it."

"I know you wouldn't, so forget it. We'll manage Lee really."

Lee smiled. "I guess you will. You're doing a bloody good job most of the time, George. Fred would be proud of you." George shook his head, but Lee was adamant. "It's true. Believe it," he said firmly. "I doubt if Fred would have done as well without you, whatever anyone might have thought about him being the braver, stronger, whatever of the two of you."

George grinned faintly. "Have you been talking to Bill?"

"No, why?"

"Because he said practically the same thing to me earlier."

Lee smiled too. "Must be true then if two of us can see it. You're doing okay, George. And…" he gestured back towards the shop "…we're all here for you when things aren't so easy. You _are_ going to get through this, George."

"Yeah, I guess. Sometimes I even feel like I might. Thanks Lee." George hugged his best friend briefly, blinking back the tears that _would _come despite himself. The two of them went back into the shop, and Lee joined Angelina and Oliver, who were sorting through a pile of broken boxes and potion bottles. George looked around for Ron, knowing that this was not going to be nearly as easy as talking to Lee, but that he had to do it.

Ron's ears turned scarlet when George caught his eye, but he stood up from where he was crouched on the floor sorting out Skiving Snackboxes, with the air of someone wanting to get the worst over with. The two of them ducked into the office and looked at each other, neither knowing quite what to say. Then: "Sorry," they both said simultaneously, and were suddenly hugging each other.

"I was an idiot," Ron muttered, his ears still scarlet.

"No you weren't. I haven't been fair to you Ron, and I'm sorry. I-I'll try not to take you for granted any more. You know I'm grateful for all you've done since-since Fr-Fred died. Without you…" George's voice tailed off, and Ron hugged him again.

"S'okay George. We were _both_ idiots. What are we going to do about replacing Lee?"

"Godric, Ron, I wish I knew. I-I just feel I can't cope with someone I don't know working here yet, but I guess I'll have to. We'd better put an ad in the _"Prophet"_ I guess, and a notice in the window. But…" George stopped, and turned away form his brother, blinking rapidly. Unfortunately his eyes fell on the picture of the victorious Gryffindor Quidditch team, with Harry held high on his and Fred's shoulders, which didn't help. He wiped his eyes on his hands, hoping Ron wouldn't realise he was crying, but it didn't work.

"Hey…" Ron's voice was surprisingly gentle as he put an arm round George's shoulder. "It'll be okay. We'll sort it out, George. We'll find someone, and if it takes a week or two we'll manage. Lee and I coped on our own when you were ill in September, so it can be done."

George swallowed and nodded. "Yeah, I know. Fr-Fred and I managed without anyone before we hired Verity."

"Would she come back?" Ron asked, but George shook his head.

"Don't think so. She's working at Eeylops' now, and I certainly got the impression she was happy there. We did rather dump her when we had to disappear."

"That wasn't your fault though."

"I know, but I'm not sure she sees it like that, and, as I said, she's happy at Eeylops'. We'll have to find someone new."

"Well, we will then," Ron said decisively. "It'll be okay George. There must be someone out there who's perfect for this place. We just have to find them."

"Oh yeah. Dead simple." George tried to smile. "They're just going to turn up on the doorstep and ask for a job are they?"

Ron laughed. "Well, they _might_, but I wouldn't bank on it. Forget it for now, George. Let's get the shop sorted out, and we can worry about that tomorrow. Okay?"

George sighed and nodded. "Okay. Do you really think we're going to be able to open tomorrow?"

"With this many of us working on it? Of course we are. C'mon, we'd better go back and help before Mum or Bill comes to see if we've murdered each other."

George nodded, and the two of them went back into the shop together.

With sixteen of them working on it, the shop began to look better remarkably quickly. Some things were beyond even magical repair of course, and had to be discarded, but many more were either undamaged or easily fixable. The major problem looked like being most of the Wonderwitch potions and pastes, the bottles of which had broken and spilt the contents everywhere. They would obviously need to be remade from scratch. The firework stock also needed replenishing following George's display on Christmas Eve, and many of the Patented Daydream Charms were damaged beyond repair too. As George remarked, they could hardly sell them if the handsome hero was likely to turn into a werewolf or drop dead mid-daydream, as well might happen.

Molly took the opportunity for what she called "a good spring clean", and was soon berating George for the state of some of the shelves. "Honestly, George, have these _ever_ been cleaned since you moved in here?"

"Umm – Verity might have done it once or twice…"

"So nothing since April? It looks like it, I must say," his mother retorted, furiously siphoning off dust with her wand. "Someone needs to clean the windows too, before you refill them. It's a wonder anyone can see anything through them even without that obscuring spell of Percy's."

"Yes Mum." George decided it was easier not to argue, though he rolled his eyes at Ron once Molly's back was turned.

It was Fleur who finally solved the puzzle of Katie's teddy bear. Coming into the front of the shop from the back where she had been clearing the floor of a mess of Wonderwitch products and sticky sweets, she regarded the bear critically.

"'E looks like ze caretaker at 'Ogwarts," she declared. "Ze man wiz ze 'orrible cat."

Bill and Percy, following her with their arms full of boxes, both laughed.

"She's right , you know," said Percy. "You'll have to call him Argus, Katie."

"Oh no! Look what you've landed me with, George! A bear who looks like Filch!"

"Hey, don't blame me. You chose him, I only knocked some coconuts down…"

Within a couple of hours, the floor was clear, the shelves and windows were clean even by Molly's exacting standards, and they were ready to start restocking. But before they began on that, Ron and Hermione were despatched to Bettina Bewlock's Bakery in search of sustenance. Remarkably, Bettina took in her stride providing pumpkin soup and fresh bread for sixteen people at ten minutes notice on New Years Day.

Once they had eaten, there was almost a party atmosphere as they put the shop together again. George, with Hermione to help him, was working on the Patented Daydream Charms in the tiny office, while Fleur, Angelina, Oliver and Percy were mixing Wonderwitch potions, creams and pastes upstairs in the flat. Ron, Lee and Charlie had started on the fireworks. Everyone else was mending boxes, replenishing shelves and carrying things up from the stockroom. Katie and Ginny decided to take the opportunity to redecorate, and conjured magenta, gold and silver streamers, stars and lanterns above the counters and festooning the window – which was soon full of its usual array of colourful and noisy products.

By seven o'clock, they were all worn out, but proud of their efforts, and the shop looked better than it had for weeks. A few products were still missing from the shelves – the Wonderwitch range and Daydream Charms were badly depleted, and there were very few fireworks as yet – but everything else was as it should be.

George looked around with something like amazement at the transformation. "I-I don't know what to say…" he managed at last.

"Well, that's a first!" said Charlie, and everyone laughed.

George grinned, and threw a trick wand at his brother, who caught it with a true Seeker's instinct, but swore and dropped it rapidly as it transformed into a large and hairy spider. (Ron backed away hastily). Everyone laughed again.

"Thanks everyone," George said. "It's not enough, but… Thanks."

They all looked slightly embarrassed, and Molly broke the tension by announcing that they were all to come back to The Burrow for a meal. Within an hour, they had somehow managed to squeeze into the dining room at The Burrow, and were enjoying an enormous beef stew with baked potatoes, that she had had the foresight to prepare that morning.

Harry glanced out of the window as they finished the meal. "It's snowing!" he announced, and sure enough, several inches of snow had come down while they were eating, and more was falling.

"Snowball fight!" cried Ron laughing, and everyone cheered at that idea. Molly and Arthur declined, but everyone else – even Charlie, despite his mother's predictable objections – ran to find cloaks, scarves and gloves and went out into the paddock, where the fight went on for more than an hour by the light of lanterns which Bill and Charlie conjured in the trees. Bill had his revenge on George for the Quidditch defeat on Christmas Day, his side thoroughly routing George's from the end of the paddock they were defending, and managing to take most of them captive – though Ginny and George himself escaped by summoning broomsticks from the shed and flying up and out of reach of Bill's team.

Finally, they were all exhausted – Charlie was struggling to stay on his feet, despite his protestations that he was fine, and would never have made it back to the house without Bill and Oliver supporting him on either side. They straggled back to The Burrow, where Molly had provided gallons of hot chocolate with mince pies and fruitcake, and it was after midnight before the guests finally left.

Despite how it had begun, it had been a good New Years Day.


	44. New Year: A postscript

This is a shortish chapter, with lots of dialogue, and the things that refused to happen on New Year's Day. You'll see in the next chapter why I want these particular people around. (If it goes according to plan, which it might not, if past experience is anything to go by.)

Please read and review.

**New Year Postscript**

**January 2****nd**** 1999 Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes**

Angelina turned up unexpectedly at the shop the next morning with Lee.

"Hi Ange," said George, yawning widely. Getting up early enough to open on time had been a trial. "What are you doing here?"

"Um, well, we wondered if you'd give me Lee's job?" she replied, half laughing, half doubtful.

"Seriously? I thought you were planning to get paid for playing Quidditch?" George said, frowning, as Ron ambled through from the back of the shop, also yawning.

"Well, yeah, I hope I am," Angelina replied. "But the Harpies didn't need a Chaser when I tried out for them last month. They said they might after Easter though, and that I should try out again then. I could try for Puddlemere or Twerton, but I'd really prefer the Harpies, and they sounded as if I'd have a good chance later on. So it would only be till Easter me being here if that works out. If you want someone longer-term, that's fine, and I'd understand, but…" She looked at George expectantly, and he exchanged a look with Ron, who nodded almost imperceptibly.

"Yeah, we'll have you," George said, grinning. "Much better than someone we don't know, and it gives us time to find someone permanent. Consider yourself hired."

Angelina smiled, and hugged him. "So what do you want me to do?"

"Can you and Ron look after the shop while Lee and I go back to firework-making?" George asked. "The Wonderwitch stuff and the rest of the Daydream Charms'll have to wait – too darn fiddly."

George and Lee disappeared downstairs to the stockroom – which had to double as a factory-cum-laboratory on occasions like this: they could really do with more space – leaving Ron and Angelina in the shop, which was surprisingly busy. Perhaps the wizarding population felt they needed something to cheer them up in the post-Christmas-and-New-Year gloom, as there was a steady stream of customers all morning despite the cold and the continuing blustery snow showers.

Early in the afternoon, they had another surprise when the shop door opened and Fleur came in.

"Hi," said George, who was manning the shop with Ron while Lee and Angelina had lunch. "What are you doing here?"

"I sought you might need some 'elp wiz ze Wonderwitch products," Fleur replied, smiling at him. "If so, I am available for as long as you need me. I can come and 'elp until you are re-stocked if you would like."

"Really? That would be fantastic Fleur," George said, smiling back at her. "We've just given Angelina Lee's job, but we could really do with someone to help with stuff like that. At the moment, there just aren't enough of us to get everything done."

"Okay, zen," said Fleur, taking off her cloak and slinging it over her arm. "I will come in and 'elp for as long as you need me. As long as you do not expect me to serve in ze shop – I would be 'opeless at zat."

"I'm sure you wouldn't," George told her. "But okay. You can do the behind the scenes production stuff." He hesitated. "Does Bill know about you volunteering for this?"

Fleur raised her eyebrows at him. "Meaning what? Zat I am not allowed to do anysing wizout my 'usband's permission?"

George laughed. "I'd like to see Bill try and stop you doing something you wanted to. No, I mean if he disapproves, he'll blame me, not you, so I'm covering my own back."

Fleur laughed too. "You are quite safe, George. Bill knows all about it. As long as you know it will be short-term, 'e is fine wiz it. Oh, and you do not need to pay me. I am 'appy to 'elp out."

"Of course we'll pay you." George retorted. "We don't do slave labour in this place, despite what Ron might have you believe. Are you okay working upstairs in the flat? Lee and I are making fireworks downstairs, and it's a bit of a mess."

"Yes, zat is fine," Fleur said serenely. "Is ze stuff still up zere?" he nodded. "Zen I will go and make a start." She went up the stairs, while George went through to the back room to tell Ron about the latest development.

"I told you someone would turn up," said Ron, with an unmistakeably smug look on his face. "And you didn't believe me. You ought to have more faith in my judgement, George."

"Yeah, sure." George made a face at his brother. "But we still need to find someone permanent. Ange'll be off beating Oliver at Quidditch before we know it, and Fleur said she wasn't doing this long-term either – though I don't know what her excuse is."

"Does she need one when she's doing us a favour?" Ron asked, grinning. "At least we have some breathing space to find someone new now. Without having to run ourselves ragged trying to keep the place going on our own. I told you it'd work out, George."

"You're not going to let me forget that, are you?"

"What do you think?" Ron laughed. "Of course I'm not. How often do you admit that I'm right?"

George laughed too. "Make the most of it, little brother. This might be the first and last time."


	45. Lee's birthday: Prelude I

Another short one, but I thought this was enough to stand as a chapter on its own.

I know the song isn't brilliant - I don't _do _poetry. Please imagine it as a slightly rock-y ballad with more repetitions than I've put in...

Thanks to all my loyal readers and reviewers. Please continue to do both!

**January 1999 – Prelude I to Lee Jordan's Birthday**

They fell into a routine surprisingly quickly at the shop, with Angelina and Fleur fitting into their new roles well. After the first week of the year, Lee left, he and George having succeeded in replenishing most of the firework stock, though a good portion of the regular indoor firework order for Merlyn's remained to be completed. Fleur proved to be adept at mixing the Wonderwitch products, even suggesting and carrying out some alterations to improve them. Apparently, potions had been one of her best subjects at Beauxbatons, a fact which she had not previously owned up to in a family where most people regarded potions lessons as something to be endured rather than enjoyed. George teased her that they should alter the Wonderwitch packaging to read "Veela-made", and raise the price accordingly, but that earned him such a glare from Fleur that he backed down rapidly.

The first Monday after the New Year saw George, Ron, Angelina and Fleur – who had come in to work earlier than she usually did on purpose – crowded round the shop radio to hear the start of Lee's new daily show on the Wizarding Wireless Network.

At ten o'clock precisely, a familiar voice issued from the radio: "Hi, my name's Lee Jordan, and I'll be your host on weekday mornings from now on with a mixture of news, music, gossip, and of course Quidditch to keep you entertained as you work, rest and play. Since it's my first day here, I'm going to indulge myself and dedicate the first piece of music as _I _want – future dedications can come from you, dear listeners. This is something I think we'll be hearing a lot of over the next few months. It's the new song from Dreams of the Painted Dragon, and will be released in a couple of weeks. It's called _"For the fallen"_, and I'm playing it today for Fred, and everyone who loves him."

The four people in the shop deliberately avoided each others' eyes as the music swelled out from the radio.

_Darkness_

_Darkness_

_We must fight_

_Fight for the light_

_Fight for the right_

_But after the fight_

_After the victory_

_Victory _

_Victory_

_We count the cost_

_We count the cost_

_The fallen_

_The fallen_

_They paid the price_

_The price of light_

_The price of light_

_Victory_

_Victory_

_The victory is ours _

_Is theirs_

_The fallen_

_They paid the price_

_Of victory_

_Our victory_

_Their victory_

_They paid the price_

_You paid the price_

_We salute you_

_We salute you_

_Victory_

_We salute you_

None of them had heard the song before, but by the time the last notes died away, Angelina had tears on her cheeks, Fleur was wiping her eyes and both George and Ron were blinking and biting their lips.

George looked round at the others, and managed a shaky laugh. "Dammit, I think Lee's trying to put us out of business. This is a _joke _shop, people. No crying allowed."

Ron and Fleur managed to laugh too, but Angelina choked and swallowed hard, fresh tears springing to her eyes.

Fleur gave her a sharp look. "Come on," she said gently, taking the younger girl's arm. "Let's make some tea. The boys can manage wizout us for a bit." She steered Angelina towards the stairs, leaving Ron and George looking at each other.

"Living in England's getting to Fleur," Ron observed, trying to lighten the suddenly sombre mood. "She always used to laugh at the English idea that tea can cure anything."

George's mouth twitched, but he did not smile. "Yeah, we must be converting her." Then he frowned. "D'you think Ange is okay? It's not like her to react like that."

Ron frowned too. He thought he had some idea of what Angelina's problem might be, but if he was correct, George was the _last_ person he could discuss it with.

"She'll be fine," he said, in what he hoped was a reassuring tone of voice. "That song _was_ a bit much coming at you with no warning. We'll have to have words with Lee when we see him."

George smiled. "Yeah, we will. I just hope I'm not around when _Mum_ hears that for the first time…"

Ron gave him a look of horror at the idea. "Merlin, what a horrible thought. I definitely agree with you there."

The door opened at that point to admit some customers, and the incident was soon forgotten by both of them, at least for the moment.


	46. Lee's birthday: Prelude II

No revelations yet (or only a minor one at the end that you could have guessed anyway), but there will be **Major Drama** in the next chapter...

**January 1999 – Prelude II to Lee Jordan's Birthday**

Within a couple of weeks, a friendship – on the surface an unlikely one – had begun between Angelina and Fleur. There was barely a year between them in age, and Fleur – though on the whole she was happy with her life in England – missed her friends from France. Angelina, for her part, found in Fleur someone she might be able to talk to, someone a bit more removed from and uninvolved in what Angelina was beginning to see as an impossible situation than either Alicia or Katie. Although Angelina had not yet confided in her new friend about what was upsetting her, it was clear to Fleur that she was very troubled about something. She was edgy, and snappish on occasion, and the incident with the song on that Monday morning was not the only time that Fleur found her in tears, although she seemed to be managing to hide her emotions from both George and Ron. Indeed, Fleur got the distinct impression that Angelina was avoiding George – or avoiding him as much as was possible when working together in a relatively small space. She certainly did her utmost not to be left alone with him, and Fleur saw that she did not meet his eyes when she spoke to him. She wondered if George himself had realised.

It soon became apparent that he had. On a Friday evening halfway through January, George and Fleur were alone in the shop after closing time. Angelina had left promptly as soon as the _"Closed"_ sign went up on the door, and Ron had followed soon after to Disapparate to Hogsmeade, where he was meeting Hermione for a date. (She, Harry and Ginny had returned to Hogwarts the previous week.) Fleur was waiting for Bill to pick her up, but he had gone to St. Mungo's with Charlie, who wanted moral support for his appointment there, and they were late getting back. Fleur had a shrewd suspicion she knew why. Charlie still tired easily, and although he would not admit it, it was obvious that his burnt hands, though superficially healed, remained stiff and painful. Bill had spent a fruitless hour and a half the previous evening trying to persuade his brother not to press for a return to work yet, but Charlie was bored with inaction and his mother's fussing, and was desperate to go back to Romania. Fleur suspected that the St. Mungo's Healers had refused to sanction this yet, and that it might take a stiff drink or two for Bill to persuade Charlie that another couple of weeks at home wouldn't kill him.

So Fleur and George were alone in the shop, doing some desultory tidying up, as they waited for Bill. George looked at his sister-in-law doubtfully, wondering if she knew why Angelina was avoiding him, and whether she'd tell him if she did know.

Fleur caught the look, and raised her eyebrows at him. "What?" she asked.

"Umm. Fleur, d'you know what I've done to upset Angelina?" The question came out more abruptly than George had intended, but Angelina's treatment of him was upsetting him more than he cared to let on. He'd racked his brains for something he might have done to deserve it, but was unable to come up with anything.

"So you 'ave noteeced." Fleur's expression was troubled as she turned from the shelf she was rearranging to face George.

"Well, of course I have. I'm not thick, Fleur, and it would be hard not to. We've been friends since we were eleven, and now she can hardly bear to be in the same room as me. If I've done something to make her feel like that, I want to know what, so I can put it right."

Fleur frowned. "I wish I knew, George," she said. "It's obvious zat she is upset about somesing, but she would not tell me what when asked 'er zis morning. 'As she said anysing to Katie?"

George shook his head. "No. Katie says she's barely seen Ange since New Year. We wondered if she was avoiding Katie too, but we decided that was just paranoia…" He smiled slightly, and Fleur smiled too before answering.

"I will try asking 'er again next week if you like," she said. "But I cannot make 'er tell me anysing if she does not want to, and I get ze distinct impression she does not want to talk about whatever eet ees. I am sorry George. I know zat does not 'elp much."

"It's okay. It's not your fault if she won't tell you." George scowled, and kicked at the counter absent-mindedly. "I just wish I knew what the hell I'd done to upset her so much."

Fleur smiled sympathetically and put a hand on her brother-in-law's arm. "Don't be so quick to assume zat eet ees your fault," she told him. "If you 'ad done somesing to upset 'er, I would 'ave thought zat she would 'ave told you by now."

"Yeah, so would I," replied George moodily. "Ange usually has no problem at all telling you if you've done something stupid."

"So per'aps you 'aven't. Per'aps…" Fleur hesitated. "Per'aps it is somesing to do wiz Fred?"

George turned worried brown eyes on Fleur's face. "Oh Merlin! Well, if it's that, then there's not a bloody thing I can do about it, is there?"

Fleur decided to be direct. "_Was_ she in love wiz 'im?"

George shook his head. "Godric only knows. Probably. They had a pretty on-off relationship at school. They'd be going out for a week, and then have a blazing row about something really stupid and not talk to each other for a fortnight. But it was obvious they both really liked each other. Afterwards… Well, I know Fred was still pretty keen on her. He was planning to ask her out again, but then we had to go into hiding and he missed his chance."

He turned away from Fleur abruptly, wondering irritably if it would _ever_ be possible to talk about Fred without wanting to cry. He knew Fred would not want him to be unhappy forever, that he would want him to carry on and live his life to the full. He just wished he knew how the hell he was supposed to do it.

Fleur put a hand on his shoulder, wishing she knew what to say. "Try not to worry about it George," she murmured. "I really don't sink you 'ave done somesing to upset Angelina, and if eet ees – Fred – even zen we will find a way to sort eet out. I _will _try and talk to 'er next week, George. Is she working tomorrow?"

George shook his head. "No. Just me and Ron."

"Zhust as well," Fleur said. "I will talk to 'er on Monday George. Try and forget about eet until zen. I am sure you 'ave done nossing wrong, zat zis is not your fault."

George swallowed, and turned to face Fleur. "Thanks Fleur," he muttered. "I 'ppreciate it."

They were interrupted by a knock at the door, and George flicked his wand and muttered an unlocking charm to admit Bill and Charlie, who was looking distinctly gloomy.

"So they won't let you go back to Romania yet?" George asked Charlie, as Fleur went to kiss her husband.

Charlie shook his head, frowning. "No. Not for another two weeks. I'll go mad with two more weeks of Mum fussing over me."

"No you won't," Bill told him bracingly. He had obviously got past the being sympathetic stage. "And I did warn you…"

Charlie glared at him. "Rub it in, why don't you?" he growled. "Why do you always have to be bloody right?" He looked at his watch. "You two had better get a move on if you're going out."

"Are we going out?" Fleur asked her husband, looking at him questioningly.

"Uh huh. Table booked at Carlino's for eight o'clock."

Fleur smiled and kissed him, and George smirked. "Young love, ain't it sweet?" he said, stepping rapidly aside to avoid the kick Bill aimed at him. "What's the occasion?"

"Do I need an occasion to take my wife out to dinner?" Bill asked.

"Maybe not. Beer and takeaway, Charlie?"

Charlie grinned ruefully. "Sounds like the best offer I'm going to get tonight. Aren't you going out with Katie?"

"No. She's going to her parents'. So I'll help you drown your sorrows. You'd better Floo Mum and tell her you're here before she sends out a search party."

"Yeah, okay," Charlie headed for the stairs, as Bill and Fleur left, George following to lock the door behind them.

"Have fun," he told them, as he watched them walk off down Diagon Alley hand-in-hand, before turning to follow Charlie upstairs to the flat.

"You lied to your bruzzers," Fleur told her husband mock sternly, as they turned the corner towards Carlino's.

"No I didn't," Bill laughed. "I just asked if I needed an occasion to take you out to dinner. I didn't actually say there _wasn't_ one. Anyway, I thought you didn't want anyone to know yet."

"No I don't. And your muzzer would probably kill us if we told anyone before 'er."

Bill grinned, and put his arm round her, kissing the top of her head. "Quite true. They can all wait for a while."


	47. Lee's birthday: I

Drama as promised.

Enjoy! (And review!)

**28****th**** January 1999 Lee Jordan is 21**

**I. 22****nd****-26****th**** January**

On Monday morning, Fleur attempted to make good her promise to George. When Angelina came up to the flat to make coffee, Fleur left the hair-straightening potion she was making for the Wonderwitch range, and followed her into the kitchen. Angelina looked up from the mugs she was filling.

"I assume you want coffee? I've made you one anyway," she said. She had a feeling Fleur wanted more than coffee, but she wasn't going to make things easy for her. Fleur had tried the previous week to get her to talk about what was bothering her, but Angelina still felt unable to discuss it with anyone.

Fleur took the mug that Angelina handed to her with a word of thanks, and looked at the younger girl, a worried expression on her face. "I weesh you would tell me what ees ze matter," she said softly. Angelina – although she had been expecting this – jumped, and slopped her coffee over the work surface. Wiping it up gave her a good excuse not to look at Fleur.

"I can't tell you. I just can't." Her voice was low and strained.

"Why not?" said Fleur persuasively. "It might 'elp to talk about eet."

"I can't. Not to you. You're a Weasley," Angelina muttered, obviously fighting to keep her voice level.

Fleur shook her head. "No, I am not. I am zhust married to a Weasley. Eet ees different."

"How is it different?" Angelina asked sceptically.

Fleur put down her coffee and crossed the tiny kitchen to where Angelina was standing, putting a hand on her arm. "Fred was my bruzzer-in-law, not my bruzzer," she said quietly. "Zat makes a big difference, I sink."

Angelina shut her eyes and swallowed. "If-if you know it's about Fred, why are you bothering to ask?" she whispered, her voice shaking.

"I want to 'elp, Angelina," Fleur replied. "And-and – you are 'urting George by ze way you are be'aving towards 'im, and 'e 'as been 'urt enough I sink."

Angelina blinked back the tears that were starting in her eyes despite herself. "I don't want to hurt George," she murmured. "But I don't seem to be able to help it." She stopped and swallowed. "He-he…" she began to cry, and the last words were barely distinguishable. "He looks too much like Fred!"

With that, she bolted from the room and down the stairs, leaving Fleur staring after her open-mouthed. She followed Angelina down the stairs, but by the time she reached the shop, there was no sign of her, and Ron, who was behind the counter in the front room, looked at her questioningly.

"What's wrong with Angelina?" he asked. "She just ran out."

Fleur shook her head. "She was upset – about Fred." She looked round as she spoke, and Ron realised why.

"S'okay. George is in the cellar making fireworks. Is this why Ange is ignoring him?"

Fleur nodded. "Yes. I wanted to 'elp, but I sink I 'ave made sings worse. I 'ad better go and talk to George, Are you okay on your own in 'ere for now?"

Ron nodded, and Fleur went down to the cellar stockroom to speak to George, who was surrounded by fireworks in varying states of completion, and looking distinctly frazzled. Fleur's account of what had happened with Angelina didn't help.

"I sink I 'ave made sings worse," she finished. "I am sorry, George."

George frowned. "It's not your fault, Fleur. Thanks for trying. But if it's the fact that I look like Fred that's bothering her … Well, she's just going to have to cope with it like everyone else." His voice cracked on the last word, and Fleur put a hand on his arm and kissed him, not knowing what to say.

George sighed and looked round at the firework-making paraphernalia that surrounded him. "I am _never _going to get this month's Merlyn's order finished," he complained. "I don't suppose you're any good at fireworks as well as potions, are you Fleur?"

She shook her head. (Truth to tell, the smell of gunpowder in the cellar was making her feel decidedly nauseated, but she couldn't tell George that.) "No. Sorry," she said. "You could ask Charlie. 'E would probably be glad to 'elp."

George brightened. "Yeah, good idea. You're a genius, Fleur." He looked at his sister-in-law sharply. "Are you okay? You're white as a sheet."

"I'm fine," Fleur lied. "I am going back to my Wonderwitch stuff zo. Do you want me to Floo Charlie for you?"

"Yeah. Thanks Fleur," said George, turning back to the fireworks as Fleur left. As she went through the shop, Fleur saw that Angelina had returned, but she was busy with a customer, and did not look up as Fleur passed.

The situation in the shop did not get any better as the week went on. Angelina continued to avoid George as much as she could, and was now doing her best not to be alone with Fleur either. On Thursday evening, Lee turned up to meet Angelina from work, waving a bunch of tickets in his hand.

"Look what I've got!" he said. "Six tickets for the Dreams of the Painted Dragon concert on Sunday. Great way to celebrate my birthday, don't you think? You and Katie will come, won't you George? Oliver and Alicia are coming."

George grinned. "Sure we'll come," he said. "But I thought that concert sold out weeks ago."

Lee laughed. "It did. But us wireless celebrities get free tickets."

George rolled his eyes. "I think fame's going to your head," he observed, also laughing.

Unknown to either of them, a lot was to happen before the concert on Sunday.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Angelina had not turned up by opening time on Friday morning, but ten minutes after the shop opened, Alicia arrived.

"Angelina's not coming," she told a bemused George. "She said to tell you she's ill, but she isn't really. She split with Lee."

"What?" George was astounded, "I thought those two were pretty solid. Lee seemed happy enough yesterday."

Alicia sighed. "I know. Ange chucked him, but she won't tell me why. I heard her crying half the night."

George grimaced. "Poor Ange. And poor Lee."

"Yeah." Alicia looked at him. "Can you owl him to see if he's okay? He might need a shoulder to cry on, and Ol's got a match tonight."

George nodded. "Yeah, I will. Thanks for telling me, Alicia."

Alicia smiled sadly as she turned to go. "I need to be at work in about three minutes," she said. "Bye George."

"Bye Alicia."

That day seemed to drag by very slowly. As usual, the shop radio was on, and they heard Lee's show. He was good enough at his job that George thought that anyone who didn't know him well would not detect the slightly subdued tone of his voice. In Angelina's absence, he and Ron were pretty much tied to the shop, although George did manage a couple of hours in the stockroom helping Charlie with the fireworks, and a snatched ten minute dash to the post office to owl Lee inviting him for a drink that evening after the shop closed. Fleur, who arrived mid-morning as usual, was as surprised as George by the turn of events, although if Angelina had been thinking about dumping Lee for a while, it did go some way towards explaining her recent behaviour.

Things came to a head at closing time. Bill and Katie had walked along to the shop together after they finished work, Bill to pick up Fleur, and Katie to discuss weekend plans with George. Bill, Fleur, Charlie and Ron (who was going to The Burrow that evening) were in the front part of the shop preparing to leave, and George and Katie were in the back, George acquainting Katie with what had happened between Lee and Angelina, when Angelina herself turned up and knocked on the door. She was red-eyed, but seemed fairly composed as Ron let her in.

"Ange?" he said. "We didn't expect to see you today. Are you okay?"

"Not really." Angelina's voice was brittle, and she turned away from Fleur, who had extended a hand towards her with an idea of offering her some sympathy. "Is George here? I have to speak to him."

"In the back." Ron jerked his head towards the back room, and and Angelina went through.

Ignoring Katie completely, she spoke to George. "George, I have to talk to you," she said shakily. "Please." George realised that it was the first time she had actually looked at him for over a week.

"Uh, okay," he replied, wondering what this was all about.

"I'll wait for you in the front, George," Katie said, knowing that Angelina wanted to talk to George alone, and she went through to join the others. George heard her say something to Ron, and his reply, before Angelina turned to him. She was more agitated than he had ever known her, twisting her hands together nervously, her face distressed.

"George, I-I have to know something," Angelina began, her voice shaking. "I know it's not fair to ask you, but I can't cope with not knowing any more." She stopped, trying to compose herself. When she spoke again her voice was barely above a whisper. "Did-did Fred still care about me? I-I need to know."

George gasped. It was one thing discussing Fred's possible (probable? - he wasn't sure) feelings for Angelina with Fleur. Discussing them with Angelina herself though was quite another matter. He found that he had to try hard to keep his voice steady when he finally managed to reply. "Godric, Ange. Fred's dead. We'll never know what he did or didn't feel. Can't we leave it at that? Please?"

Angelina shook her head. "No. I'm, sorry, but I can't. I just can't. I need to know. You must have some idea. You must. I won't believe that you don't, George."

George swallowed hard. This conversation was opening up to many _might-have-beens _for him to cope with, but it was pretty clear that Angelina was determined to get an answer from him. He turned away from her, blinking back tears, before he answered. "He-he was-was planning to ask you out again, but then we had to go into hiding, so he couldn't," he managed to croak. "I know he did care about you, but I-I d-don't know how seriously. I really don't, Ange." He turned to face her, his eyes imploring her not to ask any more. Thinking of what could have happened if Fred had survived the Battle was too much for him. He didn't think he'd ever be able to think about it without breaking down.

"Really?" It was clear from the tone in her voice that Angelina didn't believe George had given her the full truth. "You must know more than that, George. You must know whether he-he – loved – me or not. You knew him better than anyone. I won't believe you don't know."

"Angelina … Please. Don't do this to me." George was crying now, but he was angry too. She had no right to ask this of him. "How the hell am I supposed to know what would or wouldn't have happened if-if Fr-Fred hadn't died?" He choked on a sob, but continued. "I know Fred cared about you – a lot. I know he wanted another go at making your relationship work. But beyond that, I _don't_ know, Ange. I _can't_ know what might have happened. No one can." He was making heroic efforts to control his crying, not wanting those in the front room to hear. Fortunately, they were talking and laughing, oblivious to what was going on between George and Angelina in the back. They, in their turn, were so wrapped up in their conversation that they were unaware of a knock on the shop door and of Lee coming in.

Angelina shook her head, clearly wanting more from George, but realizing that she was not going to get it. "So I'll never know," she said, in a voice so low that George had to strain to hear it.

"I'm sorry, Ange," he said hoarsely. "Really I am."

"It's not enough!" Angelina suddenly shouted, her voice harsh with emotion. "It's not fair, George! _You're_ not fair!"

Then, before he realised what was happening, she had flung her arms around him, and was pressing her lips against his. George was too shocked at first to push her away, and then she was pulling away abruptly herself, her eyes full of tears. Both of them were completely unaware that the others had come through from the front room when they heard Angelina shout at George, and that they had seen the two of them apparently kissing passionately.

Angelina looked at George, her tears now overflowing. "You're not Fred," she whispered, so low that none of the others could hear. "You're not Fred." Then she was running out of the room and out of the shop, ignoring Lee's cry of: "Angelina!" and Fleur's hand outstretched to stop her.

Lee rounded furiously on George. "Godric, George! You don't waste much time, do you? Don't you think it's hard enough having to compete with Fred's memory without you muscling in on the act too? I thought you were my friend!" Then he too turned abruptly, and exited the shop.

Katie had been watching the scene unfold with a white face and shocked eyes.

George found it hard to look at her. "Katie … Please…" he managed to whisper, but she refused to look at him, setting her lips firmly to stop them from trembling, her eyes now becoming hard. Without a word to George or any of the others, she turned on the spot and Dispparated, leaving a stunned silence behind her.

"George…" Charlie broke the silence, his hand outstretched towards his younger brother. But George felt he could not cope with sympathy or censure or _anything _from _anyone_ right now. He just had to get away - and _hang _any promises he'd made to his mother a month or so back. Pulling away from Charlie's hand on his arm, he too Disapparated.


	48. Lee's birthday: II

Well, things aren't resolved yet, but they will be in the next chapter I promise. This one didn't go entirely as planned - I have no idea where the first person George talks to turned up from, he just arrived of his own accord, but he seemed to fit so I let him stay! The other person was planned, and I know will please some of you!

This will defintely be the last chapter before Christmas, and most likely before the New Year as well, so Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year to all of you.

Reviews would be a nice Christmas present...

**28****th**** January 1999 Lee Jordan is 21**

**II. 26****th**** January**

George Apparated in Hogsmeade and walked along the familiar path to Hogwarts. Many of the wards surrounding the school had been removed following Voldemort's defeat, and there was nothing to stop a benign intruder such as himself walking in through the wrought iron gates. He did not head for the castle itself, but the Quidditch pitch, pulling up his collar against the cold and shoving his hands deep in his pockets, wishing it were warmer.

On a dark, freezing January evening, the stadium was deserted as he had expected. He climbed to the top of the stands and sat down. In his mind, he could see the stand peopled with cheering Gryffindors, hear Lee's irreverent (and sometimes irrelevant) commentary, see a team on the pitch. _His_ team of course – Wood, Weasley, Weasley, Johnson, Spinnett, Bell and Potter – the best team Gryffindor had ever fielded, whatever Charlie might say to the contrary. George could almost feel the wind whistling round his ears, hear the roar of the crowd, see Fred's grin as he aimed a Bludger at a complacent Slytherin. He sighed and shook himself. It was too damn cold to stay here for any length of time, but he wasn't sure he could face the castle itself. Nor did he want to go home – either to the shop or to The Burrow – and if he went to the graveyard, either Bill or Charlie would be sure to come and find him there.

What he really wanted of course was to talk to Katie and put things right with her, but she was probably at her parents', and he had only met them once or twice. After what had happened, he didn't have the confidence to go and knock on the door and demand to see her. Godric, this was a mess... He could strangle Angelina, except that he could understand her feelings, knew that she was feeling nearly as bad about Fred's death as he was himself, with an added load of confusion and guilt to deal with as well. George shivered, and wiped his hand impatiently across his eyes. He was going to _have _to move before he froze. Without really thinking about it, he made his way out of the stadium and towards the castle.

He had not been here since… He didn't finish the thought. The Entrance Hall then had been full of debris; half the staircase and the balustrade had been blown away. Though he had barely been aware of that at the time, his whole consciousness full of the fact that – horribly, impossibly, unbelievably – Fred was dead. There had clearly been extensive repairs, as the Hall now looked much as it always had – except – except for the ornate carved board on one wall with a list of names – those who had died in the Battle. He thought he had known it was there. He vaguely remembered someone – Harry maybe? – mentioning it when they were talking about the repairs and rebuilding taking place at Hogwarts shortly after the Battle. But he hadn't really taken it in. He hadn't been taking much in, back then.

The Entrance Hall was deserted. At this time of the evening, everyone would be in their common rooms. But no, there _was _someone else there, standing in front of the memorial board. Someone else who knew only too well what it was like to lose a brother.

"Hi Dennis." George's voice sounded loud in the empty Hall, and the younger boy jumped and turned round.

"George!" he exclaimed. "What on earth are you doing here?"

George half-smiled. "I'm not really sure, to be honest. I haven't been here since…."

His voice tailed off, but Dennis understood. "It-it doesn't look much like it did back then," he volunteered. "They've rebuilt everything. Are-are you going to where – to where Fred…?" He left the question hanging, but George in his turn understood perfectly.

"Dunno." He shook his head, and reached out to touch his twin's name on the plaque. Seeing it there seemed surreal somehow.

Dennis looked up at him. "Sometimes I still don't believe it's real," he said. "Even being back here without Colin. I still think he's going to turn up one day and tell me it was a joke or something." He smiled ruefully. "I know he's dead really. It just seems impossible to believe, some days."

George swallowed, and put a hand on Dennis' shoulder. "Yeah, I know. I feel the same. Everyone keeps saying it'll get easier, but that seems pretty hard to imagine too."

Suddenly, he became aware of something soft winding its way around his legs, and he looked down to meet Mrs. Norris' glittering stare.

A familiar wheezy voice spoke behind them. "Mr. Creevey, oh, you are in trouble. You should not be here now – this means detention. And you …" The glare he turned on George was pure malevolence. "You should not be in this school at all, as I think you must know."

"On the contrary, Mr. Filch." Professor McGonagall had appeared in the Entrance Hall, apparently from nowhere. "Mr. Creevey has my permission to come here whenever he wants to, and Mr. Weasley is always welcome in this school, as are any of his family."

"But Headmistress," Filch began, but McGonagall stared him down, and he sighed and turned to go, Mrs. Norris following. George reflected that Katie's teddy really did look extraordinarily like Filch – he must ask her to get rid of it. (If she ever spoke to him again, that was … dammit!)

"Mr. Creevey," Professor McGonagall said quietly. "While you do have my permission to be here, I also know that you have a transfiguration essay due in soon for Professor Blurretti that I doubt you have finished."

Dennis blushed. "Yeah, right. Um, thanks Professor McGonagall. See you, George."

"Bye, Dennis."

Professor McGonagall turned to George, an uncharacteristically soft look in her eyes. "Is this the first time you've seen the memorial board, George?" she asked quietly.

Her use of his first name nearly undid George. He nodded, biting his lip. "I-I'm not even sure why I'm here," he said. "I just-just needed to get away somewhere."

McGonagall smiled sympathetically. "Well, as I said to Mr. Filch, you are always welcome here. There is even a spare bed in Harry and Dean's dormitory if you wish to stay the night. The current password for Gryffindor Tower is 'frostbite' I believe. But, if your family do not know where you are, and are likely to be worried about you, it would be kind to let them know you are alright, I think."

George felt his face reddening. "Yeah. Yeah, I will. Thanks Professor."

She smiled at him again, and turned to go.

George stood irresolute for a moment after she had gone, then made his way up to the Owlery, stealing a scrap of parchment and a quill from an empty classroom on his way. After a minute's thought, he wrote: _"I'm okay. Will be back in time to open up the shop tomorrow. G."_ and addressed the note to Bill at Shell Cottage – with any luck, his brothers hadn't told his parents that he'd disappeared again, and they need never know. He called down one of the school owls, and dispatched it with the note, before making his way down into the main body of the school.

Without realising how he'd got there, he found himself in the corridor where Fred – where Fred had died. It had been repaired of course – there was nothing to show the devastation of that night. George put his hand on the wall of the alcove where Percy and Harry had hidden Fred's body, feeling tears stinging his eyes and overflowing down his face. "Fred," he whispered. "Oh, Fred."

He didn't know how long he stood there, but eventually he turned to go, and saw someone watching him from across the corridor.

"Ginny?" he asked, his voice hoarse.

She smiled sadly, and came over to hug him. "I was wondering how long it'd take you to realise I was here," she said. "What on earth are you _doing _here?"

"I-I just needed to get away," George choked, wiping his eyes with his hands.

Ginny looked up at him, a worried frown on her face. "What's happened, George?" she asked. "Something has, I can tell."

George shook his head and swallowed. "It – I – oh Godric, Gin, I don't know where to _start_. Katie's probably never going to talk to me again. Neither is Lee. It's just a mess."

Ginny slipped a hand into one of his, and pulled him down so they were sitting together with their backs against the wall. "Just tell me, George," she whispered. "We'll sort things out somehow, but I can't help if you won't tell me what's up."

With many hesitations, George told her the whole story. He was in tears again by the time he had finished, and Ginny pulled him close, rubbing his back and stroking his hair.

"Poor George," she murmured. "Listen. We _can _sort this out. I'm going to owl Lee and Katie and tell them what you've told me. If either of them had stopped to think about it, they'd've known you wouldn't behave like that. You're not that kind of person."

"It's not your problem, Ginny," George protested. "It's mine. It's up to me to sort it out."

"Don't be a git, George," said Ginny firmly. "You're my brother, which makes it my problem too. If they're really that mad at you, they're more likely to read a note from me than one in your writing anyway." She looked at him keenly. "You look worn out," she observed. "Are you planning on staying here tonight, or what?"

"I-I guess so. McGonagall said I could. She said there was a spare bed in Harry's dormitory."

"C'mon then." Ginny stood up, and pulled her brother to his feet. "Let's find Harry, and you can go to bed. We'd better find you something to eat too. I bet you haven't eaten this evening, have you?"

"N-no," George replied, wondering why he was letting his little sister boss him about like this, but too exhausted to argue.

"Okay then, we'll find you some food too. And then I'll owl Lee and Katie." Ginny hesitated. "Does anyone know you're here? Are they going to be worried about you?"

George shook his head. "No," he replied. "I owled Bill earlier and said I was okay. I said I'd be back to open up the shop tomorrow."

"That's okay then," Ginny said briskly, towing him in the direction of Gryffindor Tower. "So you can forget about it till tomorrow, okay?" She reached up and kissed him. "It'll be okay, George," she whispered. "We'll sort things out, I promise."

George gave a watery smile and hugged her. "You get more like Mum every day, did you know that?" he asked.

Ginny returned the hug. "I'll take that as a compliment under the circumstances," she grinned.

George let himself be led into Gryffindor Tower, and within half an hour was in bed, having eaten a sandwich and some soup that Ginny had produced from goodness-knows-where. As he drifted off to sleep, he let himself believe that maybe, just maybe, Ginny was right, and it might be possible to sort things out.


	49. Lee's birthday: III

This is the end of Lee's birthday. There is a very long author's note, but it is at the end this time, as I felt that was more appropriate. I will say here that JKR is **not** my favourite person at the moment!

Please read and review!

**28****th**** January 1999 Lee Jordan is 21**

**III. 27****th**** -28****th**** January**

George found it very odd to be waking up at Hogwarts again. Perhaps it was just as well he was not in the dormitory he had shared with Fred and Lee for so long (and Kenneth and Baren of course, but they didn't really count). He found himself blinking back tears as he rolled out of bed and got dressed. Harry looked at him with concern, but said nothing until Dean had tactfully made himself scarce.

Then: "Are you okay?" Harry asked.

George managed to smile. "Yeah. It's-it's just weird to be here again without-without Fred."

Harry grimaced sympathetically. "It must be. What time do you need to be at the shop? Have you got time for breakfast?"

George looked at his watch. "Just about, I think." He sighed. Thinking about going back to the shop brought back everything that had happened the previous day, reminded him of the mess that still needed to be sorted out.

"Come on then," Harry said. "Things always look worse when you're hungry." He hesitated. "It'll work itself out, George. Ginny didn't tell me the details, but you ought to know that if she decides to sort something out, it usually gets sorted."

George laughed. "Yeah, you're right. She was definitely channeling Mum last night. It was scary. I hope you know what you're letting yourself in for, mate..."

Harry grinned, and the two of them made their way down to the Great Hall.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

An hour and a half later, George was back in Diagon Alley, letting himself into the shop. Ron clattered down the stairs as he heard his brother come in.

"George! Are you okay? Where've you been?" he exclaimed.

George managed a faint smile. "You needn't look so surprised to see me. I said I'd be back, didn't I?"

Ron frowned. "Yeah," he admitted. "But we were still worried. After yesterday… Where were you? Bill said he reckoned it looked like a Hogwarts owl you sent."

"Yeah, I was at Hogwarts," George confirmed. "I just needed to get away, and for some reason that seemed like the right place."

"Did-did you see the memorial board?" Ron asked.

George nodded. "Yeah." He sighed. "It-it didn't seem _real_ seeing Fred's name on there."

Ron put a hand on his brother's arm. "I know," he murmured. "I felt like that the first time I saw it."

They were interrupted by a knock at the door. Ron saw George's face tense when he saw who was there. He flicked his wand and muttered the incantation to unlock the door and let Katie in.

"You two go upstairs," he said. "I'll open up."

Katie was white-faced and had clearly been crying. She said nothing, and didn't look at George as she preceded him up the stairs to the flat, sat down on the battered settee, and buried her face in her hands. George looked at her uncertainly. He had no idea what to say.

Finally, Katie lifted her head and met his eyes. There were tears on her cheeks and her voice was barely above a whisper.

"Ginny owled me," she said. "She said it was Angelina's fault, not yours. Is that true?"

George winced. Katie's voice might be quiet, but there was a hardness there that he had not heard before.

"Yes. It's true." His own voice was a croak.

Katie's gaze did not soften. "That's not enough, George," she said in a tight voice. "It looked to me like you were kissing her back. I need more than 'It was Angelina's fault'."

"Katie, please…" George sank down beside Katie on the settee, and put his hand on hers, but she shook it off. He swallowed. "It – I – Ange is a mess, Katie. That's why she chucked Lee, because she's so confused about Fred, and whether he loved her, and whether she should be going out with anyone right now, let alone our best friend. She-she wanted to know if Fred still loved her when he-when he died." His voice broke, his eyes imploring Katie to understand somehow.

"What did you tell her?" she asked.

"I-I said I didn't know, because I _don't_," George said, his voice shaking. "I mean, I know he still cared about her, I know he meant to ask her out again, but whether he still loved her or not… I just don't _know_ Katie. It's not exactly the sort of thing he'd talk about – even to me."

"And? So how did all that end up with Angelina kissing you?" Katie's tone had softened slightly, but she still looked sceptical.

George shook his head, blinking hard. "She – it-it wasn't enough for her. She insisted I _must _know, that I _had_ to tell her. When I wouldn't – couldn't – she-she…" He stopped, and buried his face in his hands. "She grabbed me, and kissed me. Then she said, 'You're not Fred', and ran out. That's it, Katie, honestly." He lifted his head and looked at her, tears on his face.

Katie stood up and walked away from him. "I didn't hear her say anything," she objected.

"Honestly, Kay, she said it," George said. "it was really quiet, I barely heard it myself, but she did say it. Ask her yourself if you won't believe me."

Katie shook her head. "I can't, can I? She's disappeared. No one knows where she is."

George looked at her worriedly. "Really? Godric, I hope she's okay."

Katie raised her eyebrows at him. "Even after all the trouble she's caused?"

"She's still our friend, isn't she? And it's not her fault. She's messed up." He choked. "We all are. Merlin, I wish it wasn't so fucking _complicated_." He hid his face in his hands again, fighting the sobs rising in his throat.

"Oh George…" Katie sat back down on the settee next to him and put her arms around him. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I should have known you wouldn't behave like that. I'm sorry."

George put his arms round her and clung to her. "I thought I'd lost you too, Katie. I-I couldn't bear that. But I told you getting involved with me was a bad idea."

"Don't be an idiot," Katie said firmly. "I knew what I was letting myself in for, and I shouldn't have doubted you. I'm sorry." She kissed him, and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. "You'd better go downstairs before Ron starts complaining. We can't do anything else till Ange turns up anyway."

George stood up and went to the kitchen to splash cold water on his face. "Isn't she at her parents'?" he asked, coming back into the living room.

Katie shook her head. "No. And she's not been back to the flat, and Lee's not seen her either."

George looked at her. "You've seen Lee? Is he okay?"

"What do you think?" Katie asked slightly impatiently. "Of course he isn't. He needs to talk to Angelina even more than you do, and he's worried sick about her."

George frowned. "Would she go to the graveyard?"

Katie shook her head. "No. Bill and Charlie went there looking for _you_, and there was no sign of her. Anyway, she'd hardly still be there now, even if she had been there."

"No, I guess not," George said, frowning. "I do hope she's okay."

"Yeah, me too," Katie said.

They were interrupted by Ron calling up the stairs for George to come and help him, so the issue of Angelina's whereabouts was shelved by necessity for the time being.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Lee came into the shop at lunchtime. He and George exchanged somewhat wary looks, and then smiled simultaneously. Katie was still there, so they left her and Ron to serve the customers, and ducked into the tiny office.

"Any news of Angelina?" asked George.

Lee shook his head. "No. I can't think where else to look. I assume there was no sign of her at Hogwarts?"

"No," George said. "Godric, this is a mess."

"Yeah." Lee's voice was hoarse. He looked at his friend. "I'm, sorry George – for what I said yesterday. I should have known. None of this is your fault."

"S'okay," George replied. "I can't blame you for what you thought. It must've looked pretty bad."

"George!" Ron came into the office waving a note in his hand. "This just came by owl. It's Bill's writing, addressed to you."

George tore open the note and read it, his eyes widening with surprise.

"What's up?" Ron asked.

George passed the note to his brother. "Angelina's at Shell Cottage. Bill says she just turned up there to talk to Fleur. She was at the Leaky Cauldron last night apparently. At least we know she's okay now."

The three of them looked at each other.

"I'm going to talk to her," Lee said abruptly. "George? Are you coming?"

"I can't, can I, with the shop open?" said George. "Anyway, it's probably better if you talk to her first. I'll come later, after we close. Let me know if that's a problem, okay?"

Lee nodded, and turned on the spot to Disapparate, leaving George and Ron to try to get through a normal Saturday in the shop with more than half their minds elsewhere.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

As it happened, there was no need for George to go to Shell Cottage. Angelina and Lee arrived at the shop together just after closing time. Both were smiling, though Angelina's smile was watery, and they were holding hands.

George smiled as Angelina came to hug him. "So you two are back together?" he asked.

Angelina nodded. "Yeah. I'm sorry George. What I said – and did – yesterday. I'm sorry. And the way I was avoiding you before. It-it's not your fault you-you look like Fr-like Fred. I'm sorry." Her voice was shaking, and she swallowed before continuing. "I-I was just so-so confused. I was unfair on you. Fleur made me see sense – that it's not _your _fault if Fred never told me how he felt about me. I'm sorry."

"It's okay, Ange," George reassured her. "We're all confused still, but…"

"But Fred would want us to carry on, right?" she asked, tears in her eyes.

George smiled as he hugged her again. "Yeah. Yeah, he would. And he wouldn't want us to feel guilty about things either. He'd want us to be happy."

He felt Angelina shaking with suppressed sobs as he held her, but he knew that things would work out, that they would – eventually – be okay, however hard it was.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The following evening saw George, Katie, Lee, Angelina, Oliver and Alicia at the Dreams of the Painted Dragon concert. The hall was lit with beams of _lumos _from hundreds of wands, as the band began the introduction to _"For the fallen"_, which was already a big hit, and was becoming one of those songs that you seemed to hear everywhere.

Pete Pedro, the lead singer, was speaking above the roar of the crowd. "You all know this song by now, and you know who it's about, and what we owe them. I guess there might be people here tonight who lost someone special to them in the war against V-Voldemort. If there are, we're playing this specially for you. And if you'd like to turn your _lumos_ red, so we can see who you are, that would be fantastic."

The music became louder, and George felt tears pricking his eyes as he murmured, _"Rubesco"_, turning his wandlight from white to red. He could hear and see Lee, Katie, Oliver and Alicia doing the same thing, and he was aware of a few other beams of red light appearing elsewhere in the hall. Angelina, however, was crying so hard that she was unable to speak. Freeing his hand from Katie's, George placed it on Angelina's wand hand, and murmured the spell again, turning her wandlight a pure shimmering scarlet too. She smiled at him through her tears as the music swelled.

_Darkness_

_The fallen_

_They paid the price_

_The price of light_

_The price of light_

………

_They paid the price_

_Of victory_

………

_We salute you_

_We salute you_

_Victory_

_We salute you_

**They were going to be alright.**

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

**_Author's note: _**

**_I found it very hard finishing this chapter. If you have seen JKR's latest revelations about the Weasleys' marriages and kids, you will realise why. Since the whole premise of the last few chapters has been that George/Angelina would never work, having JKR marry the two of them off has thrown me rather. I personally think she's wrong, that such a marriage would never work because he would always be wondering if she only wanted him because she can't have Fred, and she might well be wishing that he was Fred. I think they would end up hating each other. She also says that George is never alright because he's lost half of himself. While that last part is true, and he is never going to "get over" losing Fred, I personally think he has a fighting chance of happiness with someone other than his dead brother's ex. But not with her! So my George, who has more common sense than JKR's, is going to marry Katie, and have ten kids (none of whom will be called Roxanne!) He is also going to carry on living, for himself and for Fred, because that is the brave, Gryffindor, _Weasley_ thing to do._**

**_Having tried very hard up to now to keep my fics as canon as possible (I know I have the date of the war wrong - that's down to stupidity on my part), it's very hard that they've all become AU within the last 48 hours. I wish that if JKR wanted us to know her "official" version of post-DH events (which, of course, she has every right to do with her own characters), that she'd put more detail in the epilogue or even done a family tree or a list of who marries who in the back of the book, rather than releasing it in dribs and drabs months later. I think the very fact that she said she wants her version recognised as the "official" one, means that she knows that there are lots of other ideas out there, and that a lot of people have invested a lot in them. _**

**_So, I am now a subsciber to the creed of the SU - the Sober or Sensible Universe -which means that I will stick to book canon as much as I can, but may well ignore the stuff that JKR has come out with since. (See my profile for the full credo!)_**

**_(Incidentally, Victoire's birthday will also be wrong in this fic, becasue unless I give Fleur a miscarriage and then let her get pregnant again, or give her a 15 month pregnancy (which I wouldn't wish on anyone!), this Victoire is due in September. Percy is going to end up with Penny rather than a random person named Audrey too, and Charlie likes women as well as dragons!)_**


	50. Arthur's birthday: I

_**Author's note** (long - apologies)_

Thanks for your reviews and PMs following my author's note to the last chapter. I am slowly coming round to the idea that George and Angelina might work, (though not as I have written them, so I have every intention of sticking to my AU/SU). Thanks especially to those who managed to disagree with me without resorting to abuse and name-calling, and particularly to Anna for her support even though she didn't agree with me!

I am aware that I have a dozen or so reviews or PMs I have yet to respond to personally - I will try to do so over the weekend. (Post-Christmas reality has set in with an inevitable lack of time...)

_**Anonymous reviewers**_ - thanks for taking the time to review. I have no issue at all with people choosing to review anonymously. I do have issues with people hiding behind anonymity in order to flame, abuse or lie, and I will continue to delete any such anonymous reviews.

For the record, I have never said that JKR was drunk or high when she made her post-DH decisions, and the term "sober universe" is supposed to be humorous. I think JKR is big enough to take it. Also for the record, I agree that they are her characters and she has every right to do as she likes with them, even if that means sending them all to live in a Tibetan monastery; Molly divorcing Arthur and going to live in a menage a trois with Professor Slughorn and Andromeda Tonks; or having them all renounce magic and going off to be accountants and bus drivers (which gives me a very scary vision of Ron trying to drive a bus!)

_**Now to the story itself, which is what I'm here for...**_

_**I was really, really going to make Arthur's birthday just one chapter, but it wouldn't fit... **_

_**Rosebud, I know I said this would be happy, but it turned out angsty, and the next one is too. Sorry! (Sorry to Maz too!)**_

_**This chapter is for Cassandra with love and thanks for her support and friendship.**_

**6****th**** February 1999 Arthur Weasley is 49**

**I**

There was going to be another family meal for Arthur's birthday. It was actually going to take place three days early, on the Saturday evening, so that Ginny, Harry and Hermione could be there, and because Charlie – to his delight and his mother's concern – was going back to Romania the next day to return to work on the Monday.

"Do you think we can get through this one without someone having a crisis?" Arthur asked his wife on the Saturday morning, only half jokingly.

"Oh, I do hope so," Molly replied, somewhat wearily. "I do think we've had our share of those. It would be so nice to have a nice normal family meal for once." Her voice cracked, and she finished in a whisper, "Or as normal as it can be without Fred."

"Yeah," said Arthur hoarsely, hugging her. "That would be nice."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Charlie had gone to the graveyard to say goodbye to Fred. He knew that the whole idea was stupid, of course, that Fred was no more there than he was at The Burrow or the shop or anywhere else, but it felt like the right thing to do. He smiled ruefully to himself, reflecting that Bill would be proud of him for confronting the reality of Fred's death, rather than trying to avoid it as he had done for so long.

There were fresh flowers already on the grave when Charlie got there – poppies and sweet Williams – that looked like Bill himself had been there. Charlie stood for a while reading and re-reading the words that he still found it hard to believe really meant his kid brother, before conjuring a bunch of ivy and Christmas roses and laying them beside the other flowers.

He had never been one for long speeches. He laid his hand briefly on the cold gravestone, muttering, "Miss you, bro. Always." Then he turned away to look for Bill. For some reason, he just knew that his elder brother was still here somewhere, and that he needed to find him.

It was not difficult. Bill was sitting on the bench near the graveyard entrance where the two of them had sat on Christmas Day. His face was buried in his hands, and his shoulders were shaking with sobs. Charlie hesitated. Bill had never been one to show his emotions in front of other people if he could avoid it – Fleur maybe, but no one else. Even on Ginny's birthday, when things had become too much for him, he had run away rather than break down in front of his family. And Charlie remembered only too well Bill's tearless eyes and set face at Fred's funeral – though he had been gripping Fleur's hand so tightly that Charlie suspected that she had been unable to use it properly for a week afterwards. So he was uncertain about approaching his brother now, knowing that Bill might not welcome his presence.

But there was no way that he could walk off and leave Bill like this. Charlie walked towards the bench and sat down next to Bill, putting a hand on his shoulder and murmuring his name. He felt Bill stiffen, but then relax as he realised that it _was_ only Charlie. He even allowed Charlie to put his arms round him and pull him close, rubbing his back and whispering words of comfort to him. But it was some time before he was able to stop crying, pulling away from Charlie to scrub his eyes with the heels of his hands, his breath still catching in his throat. Charlie regarded him with concern, but said nothing.

"I-I'm s-sorry," Bill gasped eventually. "I'm b-being st-stupid."

Charlie put his arm round Bill's shoulders again. "No you're not," he said gently. "You seem to have this idea that everyone else is allowed to get upset, but not you. That's crap, Bill."

Bill almost laughed. "You-you ha-have such a way with words, Charlie. What are you doing here anyway?"

"I-I came to say goodbye to Fred," Charlie replied. "I know that's stupid. I know he isn't really here, but it just felt right."

Bill choked on a sob, and put his hand over his eyes. "If that's stupid, then what I was doing was even stupider. I wanted to tell him- to tell him…" He choked again, and Charlie pulled him close as he began to cry once more.

"Don't, Bill, don't," he implored. "It's okay, it's okay. Don't cry, don't. Tell him what?"

Bill swallowed hard, fighting for self control. At last he managed to speak again. "We-we're going to tell everyone else tonight. But-but I wanted Fred to know too, even if he can't really. He-he's going to be an uncle. Fleur's-Fleur's pregnant."

Charlie's face broke into a delighted smile, and he hugged Bill. "Really? Bill, that's fantastic. Congratulations!"

Bill gave a very watery smile. "Yeah. Yeah, it is. Though I'm not sure Fleur thinks so with how ill she's feeling at the moment. It-it just hurts so much that Fred will never know about it. That-that the baby will never know her Uncle Fred." He swallowed again, and ran a hand impatiently across his eyes.

"Oh, Bill…" Charlie's voice was hoarse. "_Her_ Uncle Fred? Do you_ know_ it's a she?"

"Fleur seems pretty sure," Bill replied. "Merlin only knows how. Who am I to argue?"

Charlie grinned. "Who indeed? You realize how thrilled _Mum _will be about this, don't you?"

"Yeah." Bill's voice was almost back to normal now. "She's been dropping hints and checking Fleur's waistline for months now. Do me a favour Charlie, and _don't _tell her you knew before she did, or this kid'll grow up fatherless."

Charlie laughed. "What's it worth not to tell her?" he asked. "Okay, I won't, since you asked nicely." He sobered suddenly. "Fred would want you – all of us – to be happy about this. You do know that, don't you?"

Bill shut his eyes and sighed. "Yes, of course I do. But-but it's still hard. I guess-I guess we're never really going to stop missing him, and things like this just bring it home more." He frowned. "I hope George will be okay with it."

Charlie frowned too. "Yeah, me too. But, listen, Bill – if he _isn't_, _I'll _deal with it, okay? You let someone else do the worrying for once."

Bill smiled. "Okay. I'll try." He shook himself and stood up. "I'd better go home, and see if Fleur's okay. I'll see you this evening. Thanks Charlie."

Charlie smiled too, and hugged his brother briefly. "See you later. Tell Fleur congratulations from me, okay? And I'm sorry she's feeling awful."

"Okay. Bye Charlie."

"Bye Bill."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Fleur was sitting at the kitchen table in her dressing gown, eating dry toast and wondering if she dare risk a cup of tea (coffee was out of the question, despite her French tastes). On reflection, she decided that sticking to water was probably safer.

There was a crack outside the back door as Bill Apparated there and then came into the kitchen. Fleur looked up as he entered, and could see at once that he had been crying.

"Oh Bill…" Fleur stood up and went over to him, putting her arms round him and kissing him. She knew where he had been, of course, and although she hated it, she recognised how much Bill had needed to go to the graveyard today. She sighed. She loved her husband with her whole heart and soul, but sometimes – just sometimes – she thought how much easier life would have been if she had fallen for some nice Frenchman whose family hadn't been deeply embroiled in the cruellest war that the wizarding war could remember for centuries. Then they could have been uncomplicatedly happy about this coming baby, and the worst things she would have to worry about would be feeling sick and totally exhausted all the time. It would never have worked though. She dismissed the thought almost before it had begun, and smiled as Bill returned her kiss, and put his hand on her still flat stomach, murmuring, "Hello baby." There was no doubt in Fleur's mind that Bill was the only man for her, however hard things were sometimes. Sometimes love was difficult. But, then, things worth having were always worth working and fighting for.


	51. Arthur's birthday: II

This is longer - quite a lot longer than I'd intended in fact, but the conversation at the dinner table got away from me rather. In case you wonder, Charlie's comment about JKR's opinions on his love-life is entirely intentional, but meant as a _joke_. This is SU of course, so don't tell me that the pairings and dates are "wrong" 'cos I know they are!

And _some _of it is happy, despite myself and my taste for angst.

Ron's birthday is next, and may well be mega-angsty, but might not if it changes direction entirely, which it well might.

Please read and leave a review.

**6****th**** February 1999 Arthur Weasley is 49**

**II**

George walked slowly up the stairs to the flat to shower and change before going to The Burrow. He really could have done without a family get together tonight. He remembered saying to Oliver way back in the summer that some days were better than others. That still seemed to be the case, and today had been one of the bad ones. The really bad ones. And there was no reason for it: or none that he could identify at any rate, It had just been one of those days when the fact of Fred's death seemed to press on him, so that even breathing seemed hard, let alone carrying on through a busy Saturday in the shop.

Ron, who had the day off, had gone to Hogwarts the previous evening and had spent the day in Hogsmeade with Hermione, Harry and Ginny. So George had been alone in the flat last night, and there had only been him and Angelina in the shop all day, since Fleur did not come in on Saturdays. Although Angelina was no longer avoiding him as she had been doing, there was still a degree of restraint between the two of them, and they were not yet back on their old easy footing.

George had woken early, and it had been a morning – which still happened far more often than he could cope with – when he had woken forgetting that Fred was dead. He had even rolled over in bed to say something to his twin before the reality came back to him, robbing him of breath and of coherent thought for a full twenty minutes as the grief hit him as if his loss were a new one. So the day had begun badly, and had not got any better as it went on. George found it was a day when he would have given anything, murdered someone, died himself, just for a five minute conversation with Fred, for a few moments of the perfect understanding with another person which he had had and lost. But he couldn't have it, and so he carried on, talking and smiling with customers, restocking shelves, packing up the indoor fireworks order for Merlyn's (which had been finished on time thanks to Charlie).

By closing time, George felt he was strung up so tightly that it would take nothing at all to make him lash out and hurt someone or repeat the kind of destruction he had carried out in the shop on New Year's Eve. But he didn't. He locked the door behind Angelina, who was going out with Lee for a belated birthday meal, and made his way upstairs. He wished Katie could have come tonight. His father wouldn't have minded, and even his mother was warming to her, but she had gone to the wedding of one of her Muggle cousins, and wouldn't be back until the next day. He felt horribly alone in the flat. Even after all this time, it just felt wrong to be making one cup of tea instead of two; to be having a shower without a simultaneous shouted conversation with Fred going on between the bathroom and the living room or bedroom about their day and their plans for the rest of the weekend; to be alone as he dressed and prepared to leave for The Burrow.

George blinked back tears as he pulled on a jumper and dragged a comb through his hair (without looking in the mirror: he couldn't cope with mirrors today). He didn't have a choice about going tonight. His mother would kill him if he didn't go, and it wouldn't be fair to spoil his father's birthday just because he had had a bad day. Besides, with Charlie going back to Romania tomorrow, this would be the last opportunity for the family to all be together until Godric knew when. (Though of course they could not really all be together ever again.) George pushed the thought away, and Disapparated to The Burrow.

When he got there, his mother was putting the finishing touches to the birthday cake in the kitchen, while Percy was opening bottles of wine. His father and Charlie were in the dining room trying to squeeze enough chairs round the table for everyone. None of the others had arrived yet. George kissed his mother briefly, and raised a hand to Percy, before grabbing a handful of cutlery to take into the dining room, hoping that his father and Charlie would be less likely than his mother to notice that he was having a bad time and instigate enquiries into the matter. He was in luck. Arthur was so busy magically expanding the room and the table to make space for them all, that he barely glanced at George as he greeted him. Charlie looked at him keenly for a moment or two, and obviously spotted that George was upset, but said nothing. George heaved an inward sigh of relief that it was Charlie there, not Bill, whose sense of responsibility for his siblings would not have allowed him to let the matter rest.

As it was, even Charlie did not let it go entirely. When their father left the room to fetch glasses, he rested a hand on George's shoulder briefly and looked at him enquiringly. "Are you okay?" he asked softly.

George sighed, but realised that Charlie wouldn't believe him if he lied. "Not really," he admitted. "I've just had a really awful day. One of those when-when coping without Fred is just so _hard_. Lousy timing, I know."

Charlie reflected that the timing was worse than George realised with Bill and Fleur's announcement imminent, but said nothing about that. He hugged his brother briefly. "I'm sorry, George," he murmured. "I wish I could help."

George forced a smile. "Don't worry, I'll be okay. I have to be, don't I?"

Charlie winced at the hard note in George's voice, but further conversation was prevented by the re-entry of their father into the dining room.

There were cracks in the yard as Andromeda Tonks arrived with Teddy, and then Ron, Hermione, Harry and Ginny returned from their day in Hogsmeade. Ron was loudly bemoaning the lack of a joke shop in Hogsmeade since Zonko's had closed, and soon sought out George to persuade him that the old plan of a branch of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes there should be revived. But George found it very hard to be enthusiastic about plans for expansion. What had seemed possible – even easy – when Fred was alive, now seemed like just another obstacle to him.

"We could do it, George, really we could." Ron was not to be dissuaded by George's attitude, despite Charlie shaking his head and mouthing, "Leave it," from behind George's back. "You planned to buy out Zonko's, didn't you?"

"Yeah, well… We planned to do a lot of things that didn't happen, didn't we?" George said flatly. "Maybe one day, but not now, okay, Ron?"

Ron subsided, to everyone's relief, and there was a further crack in the yard as Bill and Fleur Apparated there. But when they came in through the back door, Fleur was chalk-white and clinging to Bill's arm tightly, looking as if she were about to faint. There was general consternation at her appearance, and Percy grabbed a chair and set it near the door so that Bill could lower his wife into it. He knelt down beside her with his arm around her, and she leant against him gratefully, taking deep breaths and trying to steady herself. Molly, who had been holding Teddy on her hip, thrust the baby unceremoniously at Harry, poured a glass of water and came to crouch down at Fleur's other side.

"Here, dear," she said, holding the water for Fleur to sip. "Take it slowly. I assume that this means that you're pregnant?"

There was a collective intake of breath at this. Fleur regarded Molly with wide eyes, and began to laugh weakly, while Bill looked at his mother with a mixture of amusement and exasperation. "So much for our big announcement," he laughed. "Do you know _everything_, Mum?"

"I _have_ been pregnant six times, dear," his mother reminded him with some acerbity. "And I have unhappy memories of just how awful Apparating in pregnancy made me feel. The trouble is that Flooing or using a Portkey is even worse."

Some of the colour was returning to Fleur's face now, and she handed the glass of water back to her mother-in-law. "I can not even Apparate propairly now," she admitted. "Bill 'ad to bring me by side-along. I Spleenched myself twice last week." She ended with a half-sob, and buried her face in Bill's chest. "And-and I keep crying about nossing," she wailed.

Molly smiled sympathetically, and patted her shoulder. "All quite normal," she told her soothingly. "And I'm afraid it's likely to get worse. How many weeks along are you?"

"About-about seven," Fleur said shakily. "She is due in Septembre, near my birsday."

"She?" Molly was quick to pick up on Fleur's use of the pronoun. "You can't know that yet."

Fleur smiled serenely, still leaning against Bill, but looking considerably better than she had done. "Oh, I am sure," she said firmly. "Eet ees a girl. My muzzer says zat zose wiz Veela blood always know, and I am sure of eet."

"Well, it looks like the Weasley boy-only jinx was broken thoroughly by Ginny then," said Arthur, coming forward and putting one hand on Bill's shoulder and the other on Fleur's fair head. "I think this calls for a toast if Fleur's feeling better. Where's that wine, Percy?"

The toast was duly drunk, and within an hour, all of them were sitting down to one of Molly's spectacular meals. The atmosphere around the table was celebratory, bordering on riotous, with Bill and Fleur's news, combined with Arthur's birthday, and Charlie's excitement at finally going back to his beloved dragons combining to put them in the most exuberant of moods. If George was the exception, everyone else was making enough noise not to notice. Even Bill had forgotten his big-brother-sense-of-responsibility for once, and failed to see George's white face and haunted eyes.

The party atmosphere – plus the effect no doubt of several glasses of excellent elf-made wine – sufficiently affected Percy that he inadvertently let out a secret that he had been keeping to himself since his return to the family fold. In response to a question from his mother about his plans for the following day, he got no further than, "We're going to…" before both she and Ginny pounced on him, demanding, "'We'? Who's 'we'?" Percy reddened, but realised that he was well and truly caught.

"Me and Penny," he muttered, going redder still.

"Who's Penny?" asked his mother and Charlie simultaneously, while Ginny shrieked, "Penny Clearwater?" and Ron demanded, "Penny as in Ravenclaw-prefect-petrified-by-a-Basilisk-Penny? I thought you'd split up years ago."

Considering the fact that this was not how he's planned to tell his family about his girlfriend, Percy took this all very well. Waiting until everyone had quietened down enough that he could be heard, he said, "Yes, that Penny, Ron. We did split up, but we met up again a couple of years ago and got back together. I was going to tell you, but-but it didn't seem right after-after the Battle and everything."

"Do we get to meet this girl, then?" asked his mother, wondering if she was losing her maternal touch if Percy could keep such a secret from her for so long.

"Yes, of course you do, Mum," Percy replied. "It-it just never seemed like the right time before."

Arthur laughed. "Has anyone else got any revelations, or have we had enough for one evening?" he asked. "Charlie? Have you got a secret girlfriend hidden in Romania somewhere?"

Charlie went nearly as red as Percy had, but shook his head and grinned. "Nah. I'm too busy with dragons to bother with mere women." His eyes met Bill's, and they both laughed.

"That's not what you told me," Bill pointed out. "What about the little Welsh 'most beautiful girl you've ever met'?"

"Oh, her."

"Yes, her. What about her?"

"Well, we're not _officially _going out."

"Mmm. Again, not _quite _what you told me."

"We need details, Charlie," his father told him with a smile. "You're not getting away with denial now."

Charlie glared at his elder brother. "Last time I tell you my darkest secrets, mate," he growled. "Remind me to strangle you later."

Bill grinned at him unrepentantly. "C'mon Charlie. Spill the beans."

Charlie knew when he was beaten. "Okay, her name's Eleri Wyn, she's Idris Llewellyn's sister, and she is, as Bill says, the most beautiful girl I've ever met. But we've only been out a few times. We're not an item, really."

"Really?" His mother did not look convinced. "I think you're protesting too much."

Ginny nodded. "Yeah. He's clearly besotted with her."

"Dammit!" Charlie had to laugh. "Bill, I am going to _kill _you for giving my secrets away. Or I could tell Mum…"

"Don't you dare!"

"Tell me what?"

"Nothing Mum," said Charlie innocently, as Bill glared at him, but then laughed.

"If he tells you, it'll save him having to kill me, because you will," he said.

Molly looked at her two eldest sons with exasperation. "You two!" she complained. "You're as bad as the twins, sometimes, really you are!"

There was an abrupt silence, and everyone looked at George, belatedly realising just how quiet he was being. If Fred had been there, neither Percy nor Charlie would have got away with as little teasing as they had. As it was, George had played no part in the conversation at all.

"George, I'm sorry, I didn't mean…" Molly began.

"Don't be silly Mum," George replied, in a voice that sounded odd, even to himself. "It's okay. You're allowed to mention Fred. We can't pretend he never existed, can we?"

"No, of course not dear, but…"

"It's okay, Mum, really." Suddenly George could not bear being there any longer. He stood up quickly and left the room, leaving consternation behind him.

"Oh no…" Molly was nearly in tears, and Arthur put his hand on hers.

"It's not your fault, Molly," he reassured her quietly.

Bill was getting to his feet to follow George, but Charlie shook his head at him. "We had a deal, remember?" he said. "This is my call." He stood, and followed George, resting a hand briefly on his mother's shoulder as he passed her.

He found George in the yard, looking up at the stars with tears on his cheeks, and already shivering with cold.

"You'll freeze out here," he said softly, putting a hand on George's arm. George said nothing, but turned and buried his face in Charlie's shoulder, as his brother's arms went round him.

It was some time before George could speak properly, but eventually he managed to blurt out, "I-I don't want Bill and Fleur to think I'm not happy for them, because I am. It-it just hurts that Fred - that Fred won't know."

"I know," Charlie told him, rubbing his back and holding him tighter. "Bill and Fleur know that too. They're not thick, George."

George half-laughed, but it turned into a sob. "I want – I want to feel _normal_ about things. But-but it's like half of me is missing. I can't – I can't cope with it Charlie, I just can't. I don't know how."

"Oh, George." Charlie held his little brother close as he cried. There wasn't anything to say; there weren't any answers. He didn't know how to help George through this any more than George knew himself.

Eventually, George's sobs ceased, and he spoke, his voice shaking. "I want – I-I need to go to the graveyard. Will-will you come with me?"

"Of course I will," Charlie said. "But we'd better go and get our cloaks first or we'll freeze. And tell the others where we're going, or Mum'll worry."

George looked alarmed. "I don't – I can't – I can't go back in. Not yet."

"Okay. You stay here. I'll be five minutes."

He was back in less than that, wearing his own cloak and with George's slung over his arm. "D'you want me to take you by side-along?" he asked, as George donned his cloak.

George nodded, knowing he was in no condition to Apparate reliably himself, and grabbed hold of Charlie's arm. At the graveyard, Charlie lit his wand, but hung back, letting George approach Fred's grave on his own. George stood for some time by the grave, then sighed, rested his hand briefly on the stone, and turned back to Charlie.

"There are flowers already there," he said. "Someone's been here today."

Charlie nodded. "Yeah. Bill and I were both here this morning," he said hoarsely. "I came to-to say goodbye, and Bill came to tell Fred about the baby. He was crying when I found him here. So he does understand how you feel about Fred not knowing. He feels the same way."

George looked at him in astonishment. "_Bill_ was crying?" he asked.

"Yeah," Charlie confirmed. "Though he wouldn't have been if he'd known I was going to turn up. Obviously. This is Bill we're talking about."

George's lips twitched. "Yeah. He has his big brother image to keep up." He sighed. "Poor Bill. It must be tough looking out for the rest of us all the time. Perhaps he'll drop it once he has a kid of his own to worry about."

Charlie smiled. "I doubt it. I don't think he can help it. That was what I wasn't allowed to tell Mum – that I knew about the baby before she did."

George grinned a ghost of his old grin. "Yeah. She'd _murder _Bill if she knew that."

"Yeah," Charlie laughed. "So I can use it as blackmail against him for a while. Shame I'm leaving tomorrow really, so I can't make the most of it. Are you ready to go home now?"

George nodded. "Yeah. I'm ready to go home. Thanks Charlie. Now tell me about this girl with the weird name. Is she really that gorgeous?"

Charlie grinned. "She is. Better looking than Fleur, though Bill refuses to believe that." He gripped George's arm, and the two of them Disapparated together back to The Burrow.


	52. Ron's birthday : I

This is a short one. I have more written, but I'm not going to get it typed up tonight, and figured an update was overdue.

This is a sort of linking chapter, but I thought it was about time the twins' birthday at least got a mention.

Next one is Ron and Hermione and is a mixture of angst and fluff...

You know the drill - please read and review.

**1****st**** March 1999 Ron Weasley is 19**

**I**

"So what are you doing for your birthday next week?" George asked Ron on a rainy Tuesday morning when no one seemed to want to go shopping, and Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes was empty of customers. Angelina and Fleur were in the stockroom packaging orders. (Or Angelina was packaging them. George and Ron – worried about what Bill would do to them if Fleur over-exerted herself – were refusing to let her do anything that involved lifting anything heavier than a Pygmy Puff.) George was behind the counter half-heartedly scribbling plans for new products in a scruffy overstuffed folder which had been known as _"The Ideas Book" _since long before he and Fred opened the shop, and Ron was restocking shelves.

"Hermione and I are going out on the day itself," Ron replied, pausing with a box of exploding chess pieces in his hand. "Carlino's no less. But I thought we might have a brothers' night out on the Friday if everyone's around. Fleur said Charlie's coming over for that weekend, so it would be good to have all of us there. We could go to that new place, The Orange Dragon.

"Yeah. Sounds good to me. Though Charlie will probably object to the name and say there _are_ no orange dragons." There was a slight edge to George's voice, and Ron realised why.

"George, I'm sorry," he stuttered. "I know we can't _all _be there, but…"

George sighed. "It's okay, Ron. I know what you meant. We can't put 'apart from Fred' in every sentence like that for the rest of our lives."

"No, I know we can't but…"

"It's okay, Ron, really," George said firmly. "Forget it."

Ron grimaced, but let the subject drop, to his brother's relief. At the back of his mind was the thought that George's – and more to the point, Fred's – birthday was only a month after his. He wondered if George had thought about it at all, or if he was avoiding doing so. He decided not to mention the subject.

George's mind was working in the same way, although he shied away from the idea of a birthday without Fred. At the moment, his preferred plan was to go to bed on March 31st, and not get up until April 2nd, and pretend that the day did not exist. He doubted if his family and friends would let him get away with that though. And in some way, he felt that to do that would be unfair to Fred. His birthday should be marked in some way, even if George would prefer to ignore his own. And whatever he did, George would be twenty-one, while Fred was forever twenty. Being nine minutes older than Fred was one thing: being a different age from him was almost incomprehensible.

Angelina and Fleur emerged from the stockroom at that moment, declaring that the orders were all packed and that they had earned a treat for working on such a horrible wet morning. George and Ron both welcomed the diversion. George raided the till, and despatched Ron to Bettina Bewlock's for tea ("_Not_ coffee!" Fleur told him firmly) and croissants. On a day like this, they all deserved it.


	53. Ron's birthday: II

A decent lengh chapter finally! Sorry it's been a while in coming. Next one will be the brothers'night out, and will be angsty, but not Ron-centric.

Please read and review.

**1****st**** March 1999 Ron Weasley is 19**

**II**

On Ron's birthday, he and Hermione were sitting at a quiet table in the corner of Carlino's restaurant. Hermione was looking round with frank admiration at the purple and gold décor, the heavy gold drapes at the windows and doors, the dark wood tables and the silver lamps, which were dim enough to give an air of intimacy, and yet bright enough to stop the room from feeling gloomy. Each table was lit with floating silver candles and decorated with dark purple and cream roses.

"I can see why Bill and Fleur like this place," she observed.

"Mmm." Ron was absorbed in reading the menu. "Bill says they change the colours every week. The last time they came, it was pink. Fleur liked it, but he said it was like being trapped inside a mass of candyfloss."

Hermione laughed. "Or a Barbie house."

"Barbie?" asked Ron blankly. "Who the hell is Barbie?"

Hermione sighed. There were so many things she took for granted that Ron had no clue about. "Muggle doll," she explained briefly. "Likes pink. A lot."

Ron frowned. "Muggles are weird," he said.

"And wizards aren't?" asked Hermione raising her eyebrows. "People are just people, Ron, whether they're wizards or Muggles, and some of them are weird and some aren't."

Ron smiled at her. "You'd better start an offshoot of SPEW for Muggle protection, to stop people like me being rude about them," he said.

Hermione frowned, but was prevented from answering by the approach of the waiter to take their order, which was probably just as well.

Conversation was sporadic for a while. Hermione looked at Ron anxiously. It was obvious that he was preoccupied about something, and she was reminded of her own birthday, when he had been worried about George. His worries then had proved only too well-founded. She decided to take the bull by the horns.

"What's up, Ron?" she asked quietly.

Ron jumped, and spilt soup all down his shirt at the question. "Damn!" he said.

Hermione flicked her wand at him to clear up the mess, and repeated the question. "What's up?"

Ron looked at her with resignation. "How do you always know, Hermione?" he asked.

"Because I know you. Is it George?"

Ron nodded, now looking thoroughly miserable. "Yeah. He – it's like he just can't be bothered any more, Since Dad's birthday, he's-he's just going through the motions. He does all the right stuff – opens the shop, even laughs with the customers, but his heart's not in it. He hasn't come up with a proper idea for a new product in weeks. And he's drinking far too much. I don't know how to help him, Mione."

"Oh Ron." Hermione reached across the table and held his hand. "I'm sorry. Poor George."

"I know." Ron pulled away from her, flushing slightly as the waiter came to take their empty plates, He took her hand again though once the man had gone. "He's-he's not like _George _any more. It's like losing both of them."

Hermione's mouth twisted in sympathy as they both sat back while the waiter placed their main course in front of them.

"I wish I knew what to suggest, Ron," she said. "But I don't. I guess a lot of it he just has to get through on his own somehow. It must be so hard for him."

"Yeah, I know," Ron replied huskily. "There was one day last week when I woke up and I forgot – I just forgot – that Fred was dead. Then it hit me like a ton of bricks that he was, that I'd never see him again. It was so…" He stopped abruptly, blinking rapidly, and when he spoke again his voice was shaking. "If it's that bad for me, what must I be like for George? I can't imagine…"

"No, nor me," Hermione said quietly. "But I guess all any of us can do is to be there for him when he needs us – even if he won't admit that he does." She frowned. "Have you said anything to him about him drinking too much?"

Ron shook his head. "No. Maybe I'm a coward, but I think he'd just yell at me if I did. Katie's tried though. They had a big row about it last night, and she left in tears."

"Oh no." Hermione sounded upset. "If he loses Katie as well…"

Ron shook his head again. "I don't think he will. She cares about him too much to walk out on him, but it's tough on her. He's not the same person he was before Fred died. I don't think he ever will be." Ron took a gulp of his wine. "I'm sorry Hermione. We're supposed to be having a nice time, and I'm being a wet blanket."

"S'okay," Hermione replied. "You can't help being worried about George. He's your brother. And he's my friend. I wish we could do something, but…"

"But the one person who could help is dead," Ron finished for her. His eyes were suspiciously bright. "Dammit. It wasn't supposed to be like this, Mi. Once You Know Who was defeated, we were all supposed to live happily ever after."

"I know, love," Hermione whispered, squeezing his hand. "It's not fair."

Ron shook himself, and made a visible effort to cheer up as the waiter removed their plates and presented them with the desserts menu.

"Anyway, there's nothing we can do about it now," Ron said firmly. "Charlie's coming over for the weekend, and we're all going out for a drink tomorrow night. Perhaps he'll be able to say something to get through to George. Though the idea of Charlie lecturing someone about drinking too much is odd to say the least... But it'd be less big-brotherish coming from him than from Bill. And George isn't likely to listen to anything Percy or I say about it."

"I hope Charlie can help," Hermione said seriously. "But as you say, there's nothing we can do about it now."

"Yeah," Ron sighed. "Change the subject."

The waiter returned at that point to take their order for desserts and coffee, and for the remainder of the meal they discussed Hermione's application to the Magical Law Enforcement Department, before branching out to design their dream house which they would buy when "she had earned enough money to keep him in the style to which he would like to become accustomed", as Ron put it. From there, it was just a small step to discussing how many children they would have. (Ron said eight, because he thought they ought o out-do his parents, but Hermione maintained that two was more than enough.)

Suddenly, and at the same moment, it occurred to both of them that they were making assumptions about their future that they had not really discussed before. Ron realised with a jolt how unthinkable a future without Hermione by his side would be. Waving to the waiter, he settled the bill in double-quick time, and grabbed Hermione's hands.

"Come somewhere with me?" he asked, slightly breathlessly.

"Okay. Where?" she asked, looking confused, but half-laughing at his eagerness.

"Not telling." Ron led her outside and put his arm round her and kissed her. "Trust me. Please."

"You? For side-along?" she asked sceptically.

"Please. I won't muck up, I promise."

"Okay." Hermione gripped his arm, but she still looked dubious. "Why can't you just tell me where we're going?"

"That'd spoil the surprise," he smiled. "Ready?"

There was the familiar sensation of constricting darkness, and when she opened her eyes, Hermione found that they were standing next to a waterfall. It was a clear night, cold enough to make them grateful for their thick cloaks, and the moonlight was so bright that she could see the water cascading down behind them, through ferns and other greenery. There was a pool at the foot of the fall, obviously deep, and still enough to reflect the three-quarter moon perfectly, except at the foot of the waterfall, where it was a churning mass of white water. It was a beautiful, magical place, and she felt as if she and Ron were the only people in the world.

"Where on earth are we?" she breathed, looking around with a look of wonderment on her face.

"Like it?" Ron was looking very pleased with himself. "It's in Wales somewhere. We came here when we were kids once. I've always thought it was one of the most beautiful places I've ever seen."

"It _is _beautiful," Hermione gasped, taking his hand and leaning forward to kiss him. "I love it."

"I love _you_." Ron tightened his grip around her and kissed her again. "Hermione, I need to ask you something."

"What?" she asked, frowning. Even by moonlight, she could see Ron's ears reddening.

Ron held both her hands, and looked into her eyes. "I know – I know it'll be a while. I mean, you've got NEWTs and then you want a career, and I've got the joke shop to keep me busy and George to look after, but..." He took a deep breath, and tightened his grip on her hands. "Hermione, will you marry me one day?"

"Oh Ron." Hermione's eyes were bright and full of love as she kissed him.

A long time later, Ron realised that she had never actually given him an answer, but it did not matter. He knew what her answer was, without being told.


	54. Ron's birthday: III

This is a linking chapter - it was going to be part of the next one, but I thought it worked on its own. It has a bit of a cliffie at the end, just because I'm mean...

Cyberchocolate and cookies to all reviewers.

**1****st**** March 1999 Ron Weasley is 19**

**III**

Ron and Hermione decided to hold off telling their families that they were engaged. They did not want to have to deal with the inevitable comments about them being "too young" or "rushing into things", or with George's teasing (though with the mood George was in at present, there might not be much of that). As they were planning a long engagement, there was no hurry to let people know, and the summer, once Hermione had finished school, would be quite soon enough.

So Ron kept his news to himself when he went into the shop the next morning, having spent the night with Hermione at Grimmauld Place. George, who had been drinking the night before, was not in any state to notice anything unusual in Ron's demeanour, and the condition George was in was enough to dampen Ron's happiness sufficiently that it was not obvious to Angelina and Fleur when they arrived later. George's state _was _clear to them though, and later in the morning, when he was busy in the shop with a customer, Ron, Fleur and Angelina had a whispered conversation about him in the tiny office.

"We have to do something," said Angelina with decision. "I know things are beyond horrible for him without-without Fred, but…" She stopped, blinking rapidly. "But we can't let him carry on like this. We just can't. Fred would never forgive us, for one thing."

The others nodded solemnly. But it was easy enough to say that they should do something, much harder to know what would work.

"Who ees 'e likely to listen to zo?" asked Fleur, frowning.

Angelina shook her head. "I wish I knew. Katie tried the other night and got yelled at for her pains. She was pretty upset about it when I saw her. I don't think anything any of us say is going to make any difference either. I suppose he might listen to Lee or Oliver…"

"I wondered about Charlie," Ron said seriously. "He won't listen to me or to Percy. But he might to Charlie or Bill. And it might be better coming from Charlie just because he's _not_ the oldest – not the one he'd expect it from."

Fleur nodded "I sink you are right," she said. "'E might listen to Charlie. Eet ees worse a try anyway. Angelina is right. We can't let 'im go on like zis. Do you want me to speak wiz Charlie when 'e arrives zis evening?"

The other two nodded. If Charlie failed to get through to George, then they would have to think of something else. One thing was certain; they were not prepared to let George carry on as he was doing if they could help it.

Bill and Charlie arrived at the shop that evening a few minutes before Percy. Charlie had not seen George since their father's birthday four weeks previously, and he was shocked at the change in his younger brother. Even in the toughest times since Fred's death, there had been a spark of the old George present, a willingness to keep going – even to keep smiling – for Fred's sake, but that seemed to be gone now. There was something missing in George's eyes, in the grin with which he welcomed his older brothers; something which Charlie would have been hard put to define, but which was definitely absent.

In the kitchen at Shell Cottage earlier that evening, Charlie had listened worriedly as Fleur had outlined her, Ron's and Angelina's concerns about George. Bill, of course, had known of the recent change in George, and of the fact that he was drinking too much, but even he had been unaware until today of just how bad things had become. Charlie had half hoped during the conversation that Bill would insist on being the one to talk to George about it, but it seemed that he shared Ron's opinion that it would be better coming from Charlie. Charlie sighed inwardly. He had been hoping for a nice quiet problem-free weekend.

Once Percy arrived, the five brothers set off along Diagon Alley.

"Where are we going?" asked Charlie. "Viggo's?"

"No," replied Ron. "There's a new place 'The Orange Dragon' at the other end near Gringotts. It's nice. We're going there for a change."

Charlie stopped dead. "The _What _Dragon?"

"Orange," answered George, with a grin. "_Told _you Charlie'd disapprove of that, Ron."

"Dead right, I do!" Charlie was indignant. "There aren't any orange dragons. Who makes up these names?"

Bill grinned and clapped him on the shoulder. "Obviously people who know less about dragons than you do," he laughed. "Can you cope with it, or do we have to boycott the place for your sake?"

Charlie rolled his eyes. "I guess I can live with it," he replied in a resigned tone of voice. "Is there a horrible unrealistic picture on the sign outside painted by someone who's never actually _seen_ a dragon?"

"Of course there is," Bill told him. "You'll hate it. But the bar itself is apparently okay – not that I've ever been in there myself."

Charlie groaned, but consented to start walking again. "Just don't expect me to like it…" he moaned.

In the light of what was to happen, it was a shame that he did not insist on going elsewhere.


	55. Ron's birthday: IV

Well, I hope you will consider that this has been worth waiting for, and that it lives up to the cliffie at the end of the last.

I know most of you were expecting the George/Charlie conversation in this chapter, and George's drinking problem to be dealt with... Sorry, but not yet! (Although it's touched on here.) That will be in the next chapter. If you haven't voted in my poll to say who you think will get through to George, please do so. **Extra **cyberchocolate to those who get it right (and because I'm mean I won't tell you if anyone is right so far!)

As always, please leave a review. I am a review junkie, and I wouldn't write without them.

**1st**** March 1999 Ron Weasley is 19**

**IV**

Charlie stared in disgust at the lurid sign outside the new bar, but seemed to be reduced to silence by the sheer inaccuracy of the picture.

"C'mon Charlie," George urged, grinning. "If we go in, you won't have to look at it any more."

"Are there any more inside?"

"No. You're quite safe. Come _on_."

Once inside, Percy headed for the bar, while the others found a table and dumped their cloaks.

"Do I get any help here?" demanded Percy, and Bill went over to help him with the drinks. He was aware of the barman staring – almost glaring – at him as he did so, but he did his best to ignore it. In the nearly two years since his mauling by Greyback, he had grown used to people staring at his scars, and although he hated it, he tried not to let it show that it bothered him. There was an intensity in this man's scrutiny though that was hard to disregard.

"What happened to your face?" the man asked abruptly and loudly. Several people in the crowded bar turned and looked.

Bill felt himself stiffen, and struggled to keep his voice light. "An accident." It was his stock response when anyone asked. Usually it was short enough to make it obvious that he wasn't going to discuss it: that didn't work today.

"You're lying. You were attacked by something."

"What the hell's it got to do with you?" demanded Percy, putting a hand on Bill's arm. Bill himself was standing very still, looking at the barman, his expression unreadable. Percy could feel the tension in his arm.

"It's my business because this is my bar," the man said loudly. He looked and sounded both angry and aggressive, and everyone in the bar was now watching the scene unfold. Charlie, George and Ron, who had been sitting down, were all on their feet, and Charlie had his wand in his hand.

"What attacked you?" the barman demanded. "It was a werewolf, wasn't it? _You're _a werewolf."

"No. No I'm not." Bill's voice was quiet and steady, but Percy, who was still gripping his arm, could feel him trembling slightly.

"Get out!" the man shouted suddenly. "We don't allow freaks and monsters in here. Get out!"

Charlie moved forward, and was only prevented from throwing a hex at the barman by Ron grabbing his wand hand. George stood still and shocked, white-faced and wide-eyed. Percy and Bill were both motionless beside the bar, Percy still gripping Bill's arm.

"Get out!" the barman shouted again. "We don't want your kind in here."

Bill shook off Percy's hand, and turned on his heel, striding out of the bar, apparently oblivious to the hostile stares and cries of abuse from several other customers.

The barman turned to Bill's brothers with a shrug that was almost apologetic. "It's not that I don't feel sorry for him," he said. "But this is a decent bar. We have to have some standards, some limits about who we let in."

Surprisingly perhaps, it was Percy who replied. "_You _feel sorry for _him_?" His voice was icy. "Don't. He doesn't need sympathy from morons like you. You want to know how my brother got those scars? Fighting against Voldemort. Fighting so we can all have freedom. Fighting so that everyone - including idiots like you – can live their lives as they want to, even if that means being as prejudiced and bigoted as you are. Don't you _dare _feel sorry for him. I feel sorry for _you_."

He stopped, shaking with anger, and Ron let go of Charlie to come forward and take his arm.

"C'mon Perce, let's go. It's not worth wasting time on bastards like him. Let's go."

The four brothers turned and left, Ron still holding Percy's arm; Charlie looking as if he would like to murder someone; George moving as if he were sleepwalking. Once outside, they looked around for Bill, but could see no sign of him.

"Damn!" Charlie exclaimed. "If he's Disapparated, he could be anywhere. We'll never find him."

"He won't have done," Ron said, in a voice he was fighting to keep level. "He was too upset, even if he wasn't showing it. He'll be around here somewhere. We just have to find him."

It took them a while. In the end, they ran Bill to earth in a tiny dark alley hidden behind the bulk of Gringotts. He was leaning with his back against the wall, his head bowed, his arms folded across his chest. He had never looked less approachable in his life. By unspoken consent, Percy, George and Ron halted a few feet away, leaving Charlie to go over and place a hand on his shoulder.

"Hey," he said gently, but Bill shook him off and turned away from him.

"Don't!" he said harshly, in a voice totally unlike his own. "You don't want to associate with freaks and monsters like me."

"Don't you dare!" Charlie was furious, and grabbed Bill, swinging his brother round to face him. "Don't you dare talk about yourself like that!" He pulled Bill into a hug, feeling him beginning to shake and gasp as he did so. "Hey, easy, easy." His voice was gentle again now, as he rubbed his brother's back. "Shh, shh. It's okay, it's okay. Don't do this to yourself, Bill, don't. Morons like that aren't worth it. It's his problem, not yours."

"It's – not. It – You don't – understand. You don't – know what – it's like Charlie." Bill's breath was coming in gasps, so that he could hardly talk, and he was shaking worse than ever.

Percy walked over and put his arm round Bill, helping Charlie to support him.

"D'you want us to take you home?" he asked quietly, but Bill shook his head.

"No. Don't want – to upset – Fleur. Godric – I can't – I can't breathe."

"You can, or you couldn't talk." Charlie spoke reassuringly, trying to hide how scared he was by his brother's reaction to all this. "You're okay, Bill. You're okay." He turned his head to where George and Ron were still standing. "Can we go to the shop? George!"

But George's face still wore the stunned expression it had had since they left the bar, and it was Ron who answered.

"Yeah, of course. We'll have to Apparate to outside though. We put the anti-intruder wards up inside."

"Okay. C'mon then," said Charlie, and the five of them Apparated to outside Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, Charlie and Percy taking Bill between them. Once inside, they got him upstairs to the flat, where he sank onto the settee, his head in his hands. Charlie sat down beside him, putting his arm around his shoulders. Bill was still shaking and hyperventilating, apparently incapable of saying anything now.

"Easy, Bill, easy. It's okay. You're going to be okay. Come on, just breathe. It's okay. It's okay," Charlie repeated over and over, trying to stay calm, trying to get through to his brother somehow and help him.

Percy came to sit on Bill's other side, and rubbed his arm gently, adding his reassurances to Charlie's.

Charlie looked up at George. "Have you got some firewhisky?"

George nodded, and went over to the cupboard in the corner, but stopped abruptly when he opened it and the bottle wasn't where he expected it to be.

"Uh – I'll get it," Ron muttered, going into the kitchen.

George followed him, in time to see him retrieving the magically shrunken firewhisky bottle from a corner behind a tin of beans.

"Why the hell did you do that?" he demanded loudly, as Ron returned the bottle to normal size with a flick of his wand and poured a generous dose into a glass.

"Why d'you think? And don't yell, George."

"Dammit, Ron, I don't need anyone nursemaiding me. Least of all my kid brother!"

"Don't you?" Ron's voice was raised now too. "Take a look at yourself, George. What would Fred think of how you're behaving lately?"

George took a step forward, and the argument might well have escalated into a fight, had Percy not appeared behind them.

"Cut it, you two, for Godric's sake!" he said in his best Head Boy voice. "Not now, okay? Not now."

He glared at both of them, and took the glass from Ron, before returning to the living room and sitting back down beside Bill, holding the glass for him to drink. George and Ron followed, Ron looking slightly sheepish, George still angry. George sat down in one of the armchairs, looking mutinous. Ron stood leaning against the doorframe. They both pointedly avoided looking at each other.

Bill managed to choke down some of the firewhisky, and his breathing steadied somewhat, though Charlie and Percy could feel that he was still shaking. Then suddenly he turned to Charlie, burying his face in his shoulder and beginning to cry. Charlie and Percy exchanged a look of relief – at least this was a reaction that they knew how to deal with – as Charlie hugged Bill tightly, and Percy rubbed his back, both of them murmuring words of comfort to him.

After a few minutes, Bill managed to control his crying, and pulled away from Charlie and Percy, scrubbing his eyes with his hands.

"S-sorry," he managed. "That-that was st-stupid. S-sorry."

"No, it wasn't stupid," Ron told him, coming over to crouch on the floor in front of his eldest brother. "I can't – I can't believe that _bastard_. How can people be so horrible?"

Bill shrugged and tried to smile. "People are scared of things they don't understand, so they lash out. It's human nature."

"It's happened before, hasn't it?" Percy asked quietly, laying a hand on Bill's arm.

Bill nodded reluctantly. "Once or twice," he admitted. He shuddered violently.

Ron straightened up. "I'm going to make some tea," he announced, heading for the kitchen. "Might not be the cure-all Mum thinks it is, but it might help."

He was back in a few minutes, with five cups of steaming tea floating in front of him, plus a large slab of Honeydukes chocolate that he had unearthed.

"Where did you find that?" asked George, who had decided that it was probably wise to call a truce with Ron for the moment at least.

"Lurking behind the breadbin," Ron told him with a grin, handing round the tea and breaking up the chocolate to share. "I think Ange hid it there. I'll pay her back. If she notices…"

There was silence for a few minutes as they all drank the tea and ate the chocolate, each one lost in his own thoughts. Then George put his mug down, and looked round at the others challengingly.

"What was the point of it all?" he demanded.

The others looked at him blankly. "What d'you mean, George?" asked Percy. "What was the point of _what_?"

"All of it. Fighting Voldemort. What was the point? I mean, if people are still going to behave like that _moron_ in the bar, it didn't make any difference, did it? We might as well not have bothered. All those people – Fred – died for nothing." His voice cracked as he spoke.

There was a stunned silence, and then all four of the others started talking at once.

"You don't really think that, George. You _can't_." (Ron.)

"That was just one person, George. There will always be idiots in the world." (Bill, his voice still shaking.)

"Merlin, George, did you even hear _one word _of what Percy said in the bar?" (Charlie.)

"Just shut up and listen, all of you!" (Percy, loudly enough to make all the others stop and turn to him in astonishment.)

"You want to know what the point was, George?" he asked. "I'll tell you. None of you have seen the laws Voldemort's people drew up while he was in charge. I have. Stuff they were really going to enforce. Horrible stuff. It wasn't just the Muggleborns they were after. Anyone that didn't meet up to their revolting Pureblood notions would be next. There were laws to stop anyone they considered subhuman getting a job, using a wand, getting married – someone like Fleur, because she's part Veela, someone like Bill, because he got on the wrong side of a werewolf. They'd never have been allowed to get married, let alone have kids, and that would have been the _law_,not some idiot in a bar who can make his own rules about his own business. You can't seriously think the two things compare, George? They'd have made laws about who you could serve in the shop, who you could employ – if they even let you run the shop, which they well might not have done, because blood traitors like us would have been next on their hit list. You _know _it was worth fighting. You know it was." He stopped, and drew a deep breath, blinking back tears. "Fred knew it too," he finished in a quieter voice. "He thought it was worth dying for, if it came to it. We all did. Even idiots like me who tried to avoid believing it for too long."

There was a silence when he stopped talking, and then George stood up and came over and hugged Percy.

"You're right, of course," he whispered. "We all knew what we were doing and why. _Fred _knew. Sorry."

"S'okay," Percy said, returning his hug. "You just weren't thinking straight. We had to fight, George. We didn't have a choice. And-and F-Fred and the others died to make the future possible for _everyone_, not just the Purebred elite that Voldemort approved of."

He stopped, swallowing hard, and George hugged him again.

Charlie clapped him on the back and gave a faint grin. "You're wasted in a desk job, Perce, if you can make speeches like that. You ought to stand for Minister, give Kingsley a run for his money."

"Don't be an idiot," Percy muttered, colouring, but laughing all the same. "I wouldn't have Kingsley's job for the world. Much too much like hard work. I'll stick to worrying about cauldron thicknesses and important stuff like that."

They all laughed. Somehow what had been an awful evening didn't seem quite so bad now after all.


	56. Charlie's Peaceful Weekend: I

So I can see an angry posse turning up on my doorstep if I don't get on with the Charlie and George conversation soon. Trouble is, I have as little idea about what he's going to say as poor Charlie has himself...

Thanks for your kind reviews for the last chapter. I had it in my brain for literally months, and I was a bit afraid that it was too melodrmatic, so I'm glad it went down well.

Please review this one too - and vote in my poll if you haven't done so already!

**Charlie's Peaceful Weekend**

**I**

The following morning, Bill and Charlie were sitting in the kitchen at Shell Cottage drinking tea. Fleur was still in bed. Charlie was regarding his older brother with some concern.

"Are you okay, Bill?" he asked.

"Yes, I'm fine." Bill's voice was artificially bright. Then he sighed. "Who am I trying to kid? No, I'm not. Sorry, Charlie. I shouldn't let idiots like that one last night get to me."

Charlie grimaced in sympathy. "I can hardly blame you. Personally, I'd like to introduce him to a _real _dragon. Preferably a Horntail."

Bill laughed. "Now that I would enjoy watching!"

Charlie laughed too, then sobered abruptly. "You said it's happened before?" he asked quietly.

Bill nodded, and sighed again. "Yeah, a few times. It's hard not to mind."

Charlie reached across the kitchen table and squeezed his brother's hand. "I'm sorry. That sucks."

"Yeah. It does. It's not just that, though, it…" Bill stopped, and took a mouthful of tea, before walking over to the window so that he was looking out at the glorious view over the cliffs and sea rather than at his brother. "It's the people who _don't _say anything that are almost worse, Charlie. Who either stare at me like I'm some kind of freak show or pointedly avoid looking at me. I get sick of it. And the people who mutter things and think I can't hear – as if my face looking weird means I must be deaf or stupid. And when I'm with Fleur…" He stopped and swallowed. "If I had a Galleon for every time I've heard someone say '_What _is someone like her doing with a man who looks like _that_?' I could buy out Gringotts."

Charlie stood and walked over to his brother, putting an arm around his shoulders. "People are idiots, Bill. The people who actually matter don't care about what you look like."

"I guess not." Bill sounded unconvinced. He turned and faced his brother, and Charlie could see real fear in his eyes. "Charlie, what if…?"

"What, Bill?"

"Don't tell George this, but there was a day last week when I went to the shop before closing time to pick up Fleur, and this woman grabbed her kids and hustled them outside. Then she left them out there and came back in and told me I should be ashamed of myself for going somewhere like that where there were children that I'd frighten. Charlie – what if – what if _our _kid's scared of the way I look?"

Charlie regarded his brother open-mouthed for a minute, then grabbed his shoulders and looked him straight in the eyes. "I never heard such crap in my life, Bill! How can you even think that? You're this baby's _father _for Godric's sake. Kids don't worry about what their parents look like, as long as they love them. Or not until they're teens anyway, and then no parent on earth looks right to them… You're going to be a bloody brilliant dad, Bill. Just stop worrying about such utter rubbish. I think you go out of your way to _invent _things to worry about sometimes!"

Bill managed a rueful smile. "I'm being an idiot, aren't I?" he asked.

"Well, at least you realise it." Charlie smiled at him. "Did you tell Fleur what happened last night?" he asked in a graver tone. "I don't want to put my foot in it if you didn't."

"I told her," Bill said. "Had to. She could see I was upset, and I'm no good at lying to her."

"I should 'ope you are not." The two brothers had been so engrossed in their conversation that they hadn't heard Fleur come downstairs and into the kitchen. She came over and put her arms round her husband. "What are you considering lying to me about?" she asked sweetly.

"Nothing, love," Bill replied, smiling and kissing her. "I wouldn't dare. Do you want some tea, or are you at the water only stage still?"

Fleur considered. "I'll risk ze tea. 'Ave we any ginger biscuits left?"

"No, you ate them all. This baby's either going to be totally addicted to ginger, or absolutely loathe it. Toast?"

Fleur sighed as she sat down at the kitchen table. "Zhust ze tea for now I sink. You weren't planning on having seven children like your parents, were you? I am not sure zat I am ever going to do zis again…"

"I thought we might go for a round dozen," Bill teased her, as he poured her a cup of tea and refilled his own and Charlie's mugs. She glared at him as he joined her at the table. Charlie remained by the window.

"Are you meeting wiz George later?" Fleur asked him. "What are you going to say to 'im?"

"I said I'd meet him for lunch at Viggo's," Charlie replied. "As for what I'm going to say – I wish I knew. How did I get landed with this?"

"Didn't you volunteer?" asked Bill in a mock-innocent tone of voice, and his brother frowned at him.

"No, I did not, as you well know. I was planning a nice peaceful uneventful weekend."

"Well, we scuppered that last night already," Bill told him unrepentantly. "Seriously, Charlie, I do think George is more likely to listen to you than to any of the rest of us."

Charlie looked sceptical. "'More likely' isn't the same thing as 'likely'," he pointed out. "Still, I can but try. Fleur, are you okay?" For Fleur had suddenly gone very white and put down her mug, slopping tea all over the table.

"No, sorry," she gasped, standing up. "Ze tea was obviously not a good idea." She made hurriedly for the stairs, Bill following her, leaving Charlie alone in the kitchen to wonder how on earth he was going to get through to George.


	57. Charlie's Peaceful Weekend: II

Finally! Please read and review.

**Charlie's Peaceful Weekend**

**II**

George was already in the bar when Charlie arrived at Viggo's. Charlie suspected that he might have been there for a while, since Ron and Angelina were running the shop today and he had the day off. Charlie groaned inwardly. This was not going to be easy.

Still, he grinned at his younger brother as he joined him. "You started without me," he accused him. "D'you want a refill?"

Once they were both sitting at a table with a drink and a plate of lasagne and chips in front of each of them, George looked at Charlie challengingly. "So you drew the short straw then?" he demanded.

Charlie sighed. This might be even harder than he had feared. He could ask George what the hell he was talking about, but that would not go down well with his brother in this mood.

"Looks like it," he replied as lightly as he could manage. "Am I completely wasting my time?"

"Probably." George stabbed a chip moodily with his fork, and pointedly avoided looking at Charlie. "I'm not stupid, Charlie. I d know that how I'm behaving at the moment isn't…" He hesitated, groping for the right word.

"Sensible? Clever?" supplied Charlie, frowning. "So why are you doing it?"

George shook his head, blinking rapidly. "Believe it or not, it helps." He swallowed. "A bit, anyway."

"Really, George?" his brother asked sceptically. "Helps or just blots things out for a while?"

"Same difference. Nothing actually helps."

"George…"

George raised his eyes from his plate and glared at his brother. "What? You don't know what it's like, Charlie. You none of you know what it's like!"

"Dammit, George, you're not the only one who lost a brother!" Charlie stopped himself, knowing that that had definitely _not _been the right thing to say.

"It's not the same, Charlie," George said shakily. "You _know _it's not the same. Don't dare pretend it is. How would you have felt if Greyback had killed Bill? Double it. Quadruple it. It doesn't come close."

"I know, Georgie," Charlie said quietly. "I'm sorry. I know it's not the same, but… You can't carry on like this. You were doing okay. What happened to change that? We're worried about you, little brother."

"Well, don't be. I'm not worth worrying about. You can't do anything, Charlie. No one can. Just let me be."

"How can we? How long d'you think Ron's going to keep propping up the shop without any decent support from you? How long d'you think the shop will even be viable without you putting some effort into new ideas and products? You're the only one that can do that, George."

George muttered something under his breath that Charlie didn't catch. "What?" he asked.

George raised troubled brown eyes to his, and Charlie could see that they were swimming with tears. "I said I _shouldn't _be the only one," he repeated.

"I know, George," Charlie said hoarsely. "And it's bloody unfair that you are. But… Don't you think – honestly – that Fred would want you to carry on?"

George blinked rapidly and took a long swig of his beer, deliberately turning his eyes away from Charlie's concerned face. "Yeah, maybe, but…" He swallowed hard. "I don't know _how_, Charlie. I seriously don't know how to do it."

"What changed, George? You were doing okay."

George shook his head and pushed his plate away. "Yeah, I know I was." He sighed. "I just… You know when you're a kid, and something's horrible, you get through it because there's always someone there to make it better. Like your mum and dad, or your friends, or-or…" His voice cracked and he finished in a whisper. "Or for me, Fred. And-and if no one can make it better, you know that whatever it is isn't going to last for always. There's always the thought that it will-it will g-get better…" He raised his eyes to meet Charlie's, thinking inconsequentially how like Fred's they were. He swallowed hard. "No one can make this better, Charlie. And-and it's not going to end. Not ever. That just hit me a few weeks ago. I don't know why – whether it was finding out about the baby, or what. This is forever. I have to live the rest of my life without Fred, and I-I can't, Charlie. I just can't." He shut his eyes tightly against the rising tears, and twisted his mouth in an effort to contain his sobs. "I can't do it, Charlie," he croaked, and lost his battle against the tears as his brother came round the table to sit with him and hold him close.

"You have to find a way, Georgie," Charlie whispered. "Fred wouldn't want…" He stopped, realising that saying what Fred would or wouldn't want was a sure fire way of making George angry, but George didn't seem to be able to muster the energy even for that today.

"I know he wouldn't," he muttered, his face buried in the familiar warmth of Charlie's old jumper. "But-but I can't seem to make myself care even about that any more. Fred's dead. He went and left me on my own. Why the hell should I care what he would or wouldn't want?"

"Oh, George." Charlie's arms tightened around his brother. He was fighting against his own tears, trying desperately to think of something to say that might help, but drawing a complete blank.

George pulled away from Charlie and looked him in the eye. "I-I'm sorry, Charlie. I-I know you're trying to help. I know all of you would help if you could, but there isn't anything…" He choked, but continued in a shaking voice. "There isn't anything any of you can do. There's nothing I can bring myself to care about for it to matter any more. Not-not the shop. Not even Katie." The tears were running down his face now. "She deserves better than me, Charlie. She really does. I'm sorry, Charlie. I can't – I just can't do this any more."

"George…"

"I'm sorry, Charlie, I'm sorry."

He stood up, and Charlie realised with a shock what he was going to do.

"George!"

Just in time, Charlie grabbed George's arm as he Disapparated. There was no way on earth he was going to let his brother go off on his own right now.


	58. Charlie's Peaceful Weekend: III

This may well be the angsiest chapter I have ever written (which I know is saying something!)

The "who gets through to George" question will be answered in the next chapter, so if you haven't voted do so now.

For Steph.

**Charlie's Peaceful Weekend**

**III**

"Gerroff me, Charlie!"

"No way. If you go over there, you're taking me with you."

"Don't be stupid, Charlie!"

"I mean it, George."

They were inches from the edge of a cliff dropping sheer to jagged rocks and deep water beneath. Anyone who fell here would have no hope of survival. Charlie recognised the place: it was not far from Shell Cottage. He briefly considered sending his Patronus to the cottage for Bill's help, but decided that he could not risk loosening his hold on George to pull out his wand. Besides, Fleur had still been far from well when he left Shell Cottage that morning, and he knew that Bill would not want to leave her. He was on his own here.

"Let go of me!" George was still struggling against him, a mixture of fury and desperation in his eyes. But Charlie was heavier and stronger than his brother, and his desperation was just as great. George could not break his hold.

"George, calm down, please!" Charlie pleaded. "Come back from the edge. I mean what I say. You're not going over there on your own." But George continued to fight fiercely to loosen Charlie's hold on him. Getting the upper hand at last, he stood and stamped viciously on Charlie's right arm. Charlie screamed as he felt the bones in his forearm break, but somehow managed to maintain his grip on his brother.

"Let me go, Charlie! Let me _go_!" George sobbed. "Please. You don't understand. You have to let me…"

"Let you kill yourself?" Through a haze of pain, Charlie decided that brutal honesty might just possibly get through to George. "And then what? Go home to Mum and tell her I didn't stop you?"

Some of the fight left George at the mention of their mother. "Godric, Charlie, that was below the belt."

"It was meant to be. Come _on_ George. You can't do this. Not to Mum and Dad. Not to any of us. Please." The pain in his arm was cruel, and Charlie was fighting to remain conscious, but he still had no intention of letting George go.

"Charlie… I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you… I'm sorry."

"If you kill yourself, it'll hurt me a lot more. Please, George, please. Just come home with me. You can find a way through this somehow." Charlie was crying with a mixture of pain and fear, still somehow keeping his grip on George's arms, although every movement was agony for him.

"I _can't_ Charlie. I can't! I don't know how." George sobbed.

"Please, George, please. You have to try. You have to."

George looked at him for a long minute, and then, to his relief, Charlie felt him relax. He released his grip on his brother's arms, and George stumbled away from the cliff edge, to collapse sobbing a few yards away. Charlie followed, clutching his injured arm with his other hand, and biting his lip hard to stop himself crying out in pain. He fell, rather than knelt down beside George, putting his good arm around his brother, sobbing as hard as George was himself.

It was pouring with rain and freezing cold, but they were both oblivious to the weather. How long they lay there clinging together and crying neither of them could ever tell. Finally, Charlie pulled himself together sufficiently to realise that they could not stay there.

"C'mon Georgie," he croaked. "I'm taking you home."

Gripping his brother with his uninjured arm, he summoned the last of his energy and Apparated with George straight into the kitchen at The Burrow.

Why did today of all days have to be the one when no one was there? The kitchen at The Burrow was practically never empty… Charlie knew there was no way he could stand up without passing out, and George was huddled on the floor, still sobbing.

Charlie raised his voice and yelled, "Mum! Dad! Someone!"

To his relief, the kitchen door opened, and Percy appeared, a brown-haired girl whom Charlie did not know at his shoulder.

"What are you yelling for?" Percy demanded, but stopped abruptly as he took in the state that his brothers were in. "Bloody hell, what happened to you two?"

He crossed the kitchen in two strides and dropped to his knees beside Charlie and George. "What happened?" he asked again, looking at Charlie, as it was obvious that George was in no state to say anything.

Charlie was so relieved to have someone to hand the responsibility for George over to, that he nearly passed out there and then. But he held onto consciousness through sheer willpower and managed to speak, albeit shakily. "He-he tried to kill himself. He nearly took the pair of us over the cliff near Shell Cottage. Where are Mum and Dad, Perce?"

"Mum's upstairs with Bill and Fleur. Fleur was really sick, and Bill Flooed Mum because he was so worried. Mum decided Fleur'd be better off here so she could keep an eye on her. She looks awful, Charlie."

Charlie groaned. "Yeah, she was pretty bad when I left Shell Cottage this morning. Where's Dad?"

"In his shed." Percy glanced up at the brown-haired girl, who had so far remained immobile in the doorway.

"I'll fetch him," she said, crossing the kitchen and going out through the back door.

"Penny?" asked Charlie, raising his eyebrows and managing the faintest of grins.

Percy nodded. "Yeah. I'll introduce you properly later. Merlin, Charlie, you're hurt?"

Charlie shook his head. "I'm okay. Look after George. I'm okay."

"No, you're not," Percy contradicted him. All the same, he put his arms round George's shaking shoulders and bent down to talk to him. "George! George! C'mon now, you're home now. It's okay, it's okay"

George continued to sob, giving no indication that her had even heard Percy or that he realised where he was. Both Percy and Charlie were relieved when the back door opened and Arthur entered, with Penny behind him. She had obviously told him what had happened, for he showed no surprise at the scene before him, merely kneeling down beside his sons, and pulling George from Percy's arms into his own.

"George. George. It's okay, son. I've got you. You're home now, you're safe. Dad's got you. It's okay now, son, it's okay."

George' sobs quietened slightly at the sound of his father's voice. "Dad. Oh Dad. I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I just… I can't do this, Dad, I can't. I'm sorry. I hurt Charlie. I'm sorry."

"It's okay, son, it's okay. Come on, let's get you upstairs and into some dry clothes. Come on, George, it's okay." He pulled George to his feet, and shepherded him out of the kitchen. "Look after Charlie, Percy," he instructed as he went.

Percy turned his attention to Charlie, who, freed of the responsibility of looking after George was chalk-white and shaking.

"C'mon Charlie," Percy said, slipping an arm round his brother's waist. "Can you make it to the chair without passing out on me?"

"Of course I can. I'm okay, Perce," Charlie insisted.

"Sure you are," Percy agreed, half-smiling. "If you're using the word 'okay' to mean 'in pain, freezing cold and about to faint'. Sure you're okay."

With Penny's help, he got Charlie into the armchair by the fireplace, flicking his wand to dry out Charlie's soaking clothes and to light a fire in the grate. Penny crossed the kitchen and began making coffee. The door opened, and Bill entered, looking worried.

"Charlie? What the hell happened?" he asked.

"George tried…" Charlie's voice cracked, and he closed his eyes against tears, groping blindly with his good hand for Bill's. Bill took his hand, and perched on the arm of his chair, Percy was still crouched on the floor in front of him. Charlie swallowed, and tried again. "He-he Disapparated to just up the coast from Shell Cottage," he gasped out. "I grabbed him just in time to go with him. He-he wanted to go over the cliff, but-but I wouldn't let him go, and he wouldn't do it if it meant me going over too. I was so frightened I was going to let go of him." He burst into a storm of sobs, burying his face in Bill's chest.

Percy rubbed his back gently. "It's okay, Charlie, it's okay," he murmured. "You did it. You got him here safe, Charlie. It's okay."

Charlie choked, fighting for self-control. "Sorry. Sorry," he gasped. "I thought – I thought we were going to lose him too."

"It's okay, Charlie," Bill whispered. "It's okay. You did a good job. What happened to your arm?"

Charlie scrubbed his eyes with his hand, and looked up at his older brother. "George stamped on it. I don't think he knew what he was doing. I don't think he meant to hurt me, he was just trying to make me let go of him – and I nearly did. It hurt so much, but I couldn't- I couldn't…" He sobbed again, and Bill pulled him close once more.

Eventually, Charlie calmed down enough to be able to speak. "Is Fleur okay?" he asked, and Bill's mouth twisted as he shook his head.

"No. Not really. She's asleep at the moment, but Mum's muttering about Mungo's if she keeps being sick."

"Merlin, poor Fleur," Charlie said quietly. "I'm sorry, Bill. Is Mum with George now?"

"Yeah," Bill said. "So you'll have to wait to get your arm fixed. "I assume you don't want me or Percy to do it."

"I'm not that desperate, thanks," Charlie said, half-smiling, but wincing as he moved his injured arm in an effort to get comfortable.

"I could do it, if you like," Penny said tentatively, coming over from where she had been sitting at the table. "I've got a Basic Healing Certificate so I do know what I'm doing. Of course, if you'd rather wait for your mother…"

"I'd rather it stopped hurting. The sooner the better," Charlie said dryly. "So if you can do it, I'd be grateful. Thanks."

"Okay then," Penny said, smiling and pulling out her wand. "Have you got some Skele-Grow?"

"Yeah." Percy stood up and fetched the bottle from the pantry, together with a glass.

Penny took his place crouched in front of Charlie's chair. "Hi," she said, smiling up at him.

Charlie managed a smile of his own, and extended his left hand to her. "Hi," he said. "Charlie Weasley. How d'you do?"

She took his hand and shook it solemnly. "Penelope Clearwater. Nice to meet you. You do know this is going to hurt a lot, don't you?"

Charlie groaned and nodded, deciding that he definitely approved of Percy's girl, although he did wonder how his rather strait-laced brother had ended up with someone who clearly had a well-developed sense of humour.

"Charlie wrestles dragons for a living," Bill told her with a smile. "He's had his share of breaks."

"I don't _wrestle _them," Charlie protested. "Or not if I can help it, anyway." He bit off the last word with a gasp, as Penny gently rolled up his sleeve, running her wand along the length of his forearm and muttering something under her breath. She repeated this several times, and by the time she had finished, Charlie was white-faced again, and biting his lip hard.

"Sorry," she told him, reaching out to Percy for the glass of Skele-Grow. "Can you cope with this now, or do you want a breather first?"

"Get it over with," Charlie croaked. He held out his left hand for the glass and lifted it in an ironic toast to her, before draining it in one gulp. Within two minutes, he had Bill's hand in a death-grip, and was swearing steadily in a mixture of English and Romanian with his face buried in Bill's jumper.

Penny got to her feet and joined Percy, who smiled at her, murmuring, "Thanks," and put his arm round her.

"Is it always like this round here?" she asked.

Bill shook his head. "No. Sometimes it's quite eventful," he said. Even Charlie managed to laugh.

Percy poured four mugs of coffee, and passed them round, and they all drank gratefully, although Charlie's face was still twisted in pain, and Bill kept his arm round him.

A few minutes later, there was the sound of footsteps on the stairs, and Molly entered the kitchen. She headed straight for Charlie, ignoring the others completely, and Bill yielded his place on the arm of Charlie's chair to her. She put her arms round her second son and pulled him close, tears streaming down her face.

"Charlie, oh Charlie, thank you! You saved him! Oh Charlie!"

"You're strangling me, Mum!" Charlie protested. "What was I supposed to do? Let him jump off the bloody cliff?"

"How _is _George, Mum?" Percy asked, coming over and putting a hand on her shoulder with some idea of rescuing Charlie from her over-enthusiastic gratitude.

Molly wiped her eyes with her hands and sighed. "He's-he's calmed down a bit," she said shakily. "And-and he's promised not to try anything like that again. But-but he's still pretty upset. I-I don't know what to do, how to help him. There must be someone who can get through to him somehow, there must be. I just wish I knew who."

They all looked at each other soberly. There must be someone who could help George. But none of them could think who that might be.


	59. The End of the Weekend

Don't hate me. Not in this chapter. There were some conversations that needed to take place first. Sorry. (Really!) Next one, I promise.

Please read and review, if you can forgive me.

**The End of the Weekend**

At two in the morning, Fleur – who had avoided her mother-in-law's threat of being taken to St. Mungo's by managing to keep down some toast and weak tea late in the afternoon – was woken by Bill tossing and turning and crying out in his sleep. Most of what he was saying was too indistinct to make sense, but the words "Tell Mum first" were repeated several times. Fleur sighed as she pulled herself carefully into a sitting position – sudden movement made the constant nausea worse – and put her hand on her husband's shoulder. In some ways, she was not surprised. Bill was always more easily upset than usual in the few days prior to the Full Moon, which was now less than a week away, and between the incident in the bar on Friday, her own illness, and George's attempted suicide, it was not entirely unexpected that he was reacting like this now.

"Bill! Bill!" She called his name quietly, shaking his shoulder gently, trying to wake him without startling him too much. His eyes opened, the pupils dilated with fear, and he looked at her for a moment as if he had no idea who she was or where he was. Fleur rubbed his arm, keeping her voice low. "It's alright chéri, it's alright. It was a nightmare. You're alright."

His breath caught in his throat, and he reached out for her hand as he began to cry. "Fleur – oh Fleur, it… Oh Godric… George…"

"Shh, shh mon coeur, shh, it's okay, you're alright," she soothed him, stroking his hair. "It's okay. It was just a dream. It's okay."

It was some time before Bill was able to stop crying. When he did, he leant back on his pillows with his eyes closed. Fleur gently traced the scars on his forehead and cheeks with her fingertips. "Do you want to tell me about eet?" she asked quietly.

He shook his head. "I c-can't," he whispered. "I just can't."

"Vraiment?" she asked quietly. "Eet might 'elp. Was eet about George?"

Bill nodded miserably. Fleur lay down, her head pillowed on his shoulder. "Tell me," she urged.

She could hear Bill's breath catching as he struggled to speak. "He – after – when Fred…" He swallowed hard and began again. "Before-before Fred's funeral, there-there was a day I followed George up to their room. He-he was going to kill himself then. He-he had his wand pointed at his face, and he asked me if- if y-you could do _Avada Kadevra _on yourself."

"Oh, Bill…" Fleur's voice was halfway to a sob. "'Ow did you stop 'im?"

"I-I…" Bill began to cry again. Through his tears, he said, "I told him I wouldn't stop him if he went and told Mum what he was planning first. It was all I could think of. I-I know it was cruel, but…" He began to sob, and Fleur pulled him close and kissed him.

"Ah, mon pauvre chéri," she whispered. "Zat must 'ave been so 'orreeble for you. Ees zat what you were dreaming about?"

She felt him nod. "It-it was when Charlie said he'd said something to him about what was he going to say to Mum if he let him kill himself. It-it brought it back. I'd-I'd forgotten. Or I thought I had."

"Oh, Bill. Why didn't you say somesing? Why didn't you tell me?"

"I-I couldn't. Not then. It… I-I had to keep it together then. I had to. Everyone else was falling apart. If-if I'd said anything about it, I would have fallen apart too."

Fleur remembered only too well the days after Fred's death. Bill being the one who organised the funeral, dealt with enquiries, sorted out disputes, comforted everyone else. Being the strong one, the one who held the family together – although she remembered too him crying in her arms for his brother at night when no one else would see or hear. And there had been a day when Harry had run to find her and told her that Bill needed her in the orchard, and she had found him there white-faced, shaking and gasping. He had held her tightly until he was calm again, but would not tell her what had happened.

"Zat day in ze orchard?" she asked quietly, "Was zat what 'ad 'appened zen?"

He nodded. "I'm sorry, Fleur. I couldn't tell you then. I just couldn't."

"Oh my darling." She wrapped her arms around him and held him close, stroking his hair and rubbing his back until he stopped crying.

"I'm sorry," he choked. "You-you don't need this. I-I shouldn't be putting this on you when you're not well."

"Don't be silly," Fleur told him firmly. "I am your _wife_. 'Oo else are you going to tell? Eet ees my_ job _to look after you. Me being a bit sick, does not alter zat."

"A _bit _sick?"

She could hear that he was smiling now, and laughed reluctantly. "Okay, zen, _very _sick," she conceded. "But you must not let zat stop you from telling me sings."

"Oh, Fleur." He pulled her close again. "What would I do without you?"

They fell asleep again in each other's arms.

* * *

Breakfast was uncharacteristically quiet the next morning. Bill was tired, and worried about Fleur, who had woken feeling nearly as bad as she had on the previous day. She had insisted that he should leave her in bed and come down to breakfast, but he could not stop himself from going upstairs to check on her every ten minutes or so. Charlie looked awful – as if he hadn't slept at all, and with a dejected faraway look in his eyes that was so atypical of him that it hurt to see. George was silent, keeping his eyes on his plate, barely acknowledging the others' presence. Molly had her back to the table making breakfast. Normally she would be revelling in the fact that she had four of her sons home to cook for, but today she was blinking rapidly and wiping her eyes on her apron when she thought that no one was looking. Percy and Arthur were making brave attempts to get a conversation going, but not getting very far in the face of everyone else's silence and preoccupation. They were all glad when breakfast was over and they could leave the table. 

Percy and George had been planning to join Ron in the shop that day for a full stock-take, and for Percy and Ron to go through the books together. Percy insisted that they should stick to that plan, and was glad when his father backed him up. So, despite his reluctance to do anything except hide away in his room, George was bullied into going to the shop with Percy. Bill and Molly both went upstairs to check on Fleur, and Arthur enlisted Charlie's help to de-gnome the garden. The garden didn't particularly _need _de-gnoming, - or no more than usual anyway – but Arthur hoped that if he got him on his own, Charlie might be willing to talk about what had happened on the previous day, which is what he needed to do whether he would acknowledge it or not.

Unfortunately, it was soon obvious that Charlie was not willing to discuss it – or not with his father, anyway. He relieved his feelings by throwing gnomes far enough to break several records – if there had been such things for gnome-throwing – but remained obstinately silent about the events of the day before.

Lunch was, if possible, an even more silent affair than breakfast had been. Percy and George were still at the shop. Fleur was lying on the settee in the living room, having managed some dry crackers and water for breakfast, but being totally unable to face anything else to eat. So there were only four of them around the table, and neither Bill nor Charlie was in the mood for conversation.

But Molly had decided that she _had _to do something about Charlie. There was no way that she was prepared to let him go back to Romania in his present frame of mind. So after lunch, she collared Bill, and more or less demanded that he take Charlie out somewhere and try and get him to talk. Bill protested that he did not want to leave Fleur, but that only earned him one of his mother's fiercest glares.

"Do you really think that I'm not capable of looking after her for an hour or two, Bill? This is _Charlie _I'm talking about. He needs you. He won't talk to your father – he tried to make him this morning – but he might to you. We can't let him go back to Romania as he is at the moment. Surely you can see that?"

Bill agreed reluctantly, having to concede that his mother had a point. The haunted look in Charlie's eyes had not escaped him, and was worrying him too. He went into the living room to say goodbye to Fleur – who, to Molly's relief agreed with her, saying that Charlie needed Bill more than she did at the moment – before going to find his brother, who seemed to have disappeared. But Bill knew Charlie well enough to know where to look for him when he did not want to be found, and he ran him to earth sitting in the lower branches of an apple tree which had been one of their favourite hiding places when they were children.

"Come down," he ordered, looking up through the branches at Charlie. "Mum says we've got to go out somewhere and you've got to talk to me." There were times – and this was one of them – when brutal honesty was the best policy where Charlie was concerned.

Charlie glared at him, and did not move. "I thought we were grown up now. Do we still have to do something just 'cause Mum says so?"

"Sometimes it's easier than arguing," Bill said, swinging himself into the tree to perch on a branch below his brother's. His voice softened. "She has a point though, Char. It might help to talk about it."

Charlie shook his head, glad that Bill was on the branch below him and so could not see the tears in his eyes. "It might not," he said gruffly.

Bill sighed. Charlie could be bloody obstinate on occasion. "Okay then," he said. "Come to the pub in the village, and I'll buy you a drink, and we'll talk about something entirely different. But don't sit here sulking."

"I'm not sulking."

"Charlie…"

"Have you got any Muggle money?"

"I work in a bank, Charlie."

Charlie managed to grin. "So you do. More useful than dragons on occasion, even if infinitely more boring. Okay then, you win. I'll come."

They slid out of the tree and set off down the road to the village in companionable silence. Halfway there, however, Charlie stopped dead and looked at his older brother.

"Bill, I…"

His voice was shaking, and Bill looked at him with a frown. "What's up, Charlie?"

"I… D'you mind if we don't go to the pub? I-I think I need to go to where-to where George nearly… Oh Godric." He put his hand over his eyes, trying to hide the fact that he was crying.

"Hey, Charlie." Bill put his arm around his brother's shoulders and pulled him close. "To where George nearly took the pair of you over the cliff?" He felt Charlie nod. "Do you know where it is?"

"Not exactly. Up the coast from your place somewhere. A sheer drop down and-and j-jagged rocks below." He shivered at the memory.

"I know." Bill said. "More or less, anyway. Come on then." He checked that no one was around, before Disapparating both of them, his arm still around Charlie's shoulders.

"Is this right?" he asked, as they arrived on the top of a windy cliff.

Charlie nodded. "Practically. A bit further along, I think." He set off, Bill following, until he reached the place he recognised only too well. "This is it." His voice was hoarse. He walked to the edge, and looked down to the rocks and pounding waves below. Bill stood back, deciding that Charlie would let him know if and when he wanted him. It was several minutes before Charlie turned, his face streaked with tears. Bill pulled him into his arms and held him as he cried, saying nothing.

It was Charlie who spoke first. "I thought-I thought I was going to let go of him. I really did. When he broke my arm – it hurt so much. I was so frightened, Bill, so frightened. What if I had let him go?"

Bill hugged him tighter. "You didn't, Charlie, you didn't. It's okay. You didn't let him go. You brought him home safe Charlie."

"I know, but… What if I hadn't? I didn't sleep last night. Every time I closed my eyes I saw-I saw myself letting him go and him jumping."

"He didn't jump, Charlie. You kept him safe. It's okay." Bill's voice was as reassuring as he could make it, but he still had an idea that he was not getting through to Charlie.

Charlie swallowed hard. "You don't know what it was like, Bill – seeing him so desperate… It hurt."

Bill's eyes met his. "I do know, Charlie. I wish I didn't, but… It's not the first time he's tried to-to kill himself. Before Fred's funeral one day he was going to do _Avada Kadevra _on himself. I only stopped him by telling him he had to tell Mum before he did it."

"Merlin, Bill… I didn't know." Charlie's face was horrified. He pulled away from Bill, and walked away, sitting down on a rock some distance from the cliff edge, his head in his hands. After a minute, Bill joined him.

"Does anyone else know?" Charlie asked, raising his head and looking at his brother.

"Fleur does, but only since last night. I-I was dreaming about it and I woke her up. No one else needs to know, Charlie."

"No, I guess not." Unexpectedly, Charlie put out a hand and gripped Bill's. "I-I don't know how you did it Bill. You-you were the only one of us who didn't fall apart then. You kept us going – all of us, even Mum and Dad."

Bill coloured and shook his head. "You didn't see me falling apart when only Fleur was around," he pointed out. "Anyway, someone had to be the strong one."

"Yeah, but it's not fair that it's you more often than not."

"I'm the oldest. Comes with the territory, Charlie. Be glad you were born second."

"I am, mate. Believe me, I am." Charlie smiled, and Bill could see that the haunted look had left his eyes, although they were still more sombre than usual. "Is there anywhere round here that we can get a drink?"

"Best idea you've had all day," Bill told him, standing up and pulling his brother to his feet. "There's a pub in the village down there. Let's go."


	60. Sunday, Monday

So this is it! Only two people got it right in the poll, and I know from her reviews that one of them was Mackgirl. Extra cyberchocolate to her, and to whoever the other person was!

Another cliffie to hate me for...

Please leave a review if you pass this way! You know you want to!

**Sunday, Monday**

Katie arrived at the shop as George, Percy and Ron were finishing off the stock-take at about six o'clock. She knew what had happened the previous day – Percy had come to the shop to tell Ron and Angelina, and Angelina had told her. She was uncertain about quite what she was going to say to George, but knew that she had to see him.

"How is he?" she asked Ron, as he opened the door to let her in.

Ron shrugged. "Monosyllabic. He promised Mum and Dad he wouldn't try to top himself again, but…" His voice trailed off. There wasn't really anything else to say.

"Where is he?" Katie asked.

"Upstairs. Go on up," Ron told her. "Percy's up there too."

"Okay," she said uncertainly, heading towards the stairs, wondering whether or not this was a good idea. Percy was making a pile of ledgers and receipt books when Katie entered the living room. George was staring out of the window, his face grim. He jumped when he saw Katie.

"You and Ron go on home," he said to Percy, avoiding meeting Katie's eyes. "I'll see you there."

Percy looked at Katie, who nodded faintly, before heading for the stairs. "Okay," he said. "See you later."

Left alone, Katie and George looked at each other warily.

"Are you okay?" Katie asked eventually.

George shook his head. "What do you think?" His voice was harsh; it did not sound like his own. "I told you I was mucked up when we started, Katie. I should never have let you get involved with me."

"Let me? Like I didn't have a say in the matter?" Katie demanded hotly. "I know you're mucked up, George. I know you're hurting more than I can imagine, but I love you. I want to help. I _could _help if you'd let me." She held out her hand to George, but he turned away.

With his back to her, he said, still in the hard, harsh voice unlike his own, "You can't help, Katie. No one can. I should have realised that. I'll only hurt you more if we stay together. Go away, Katie. It's over."

"No George!" Katie crossed the room and took George's arm. "You can't just chuck me like this! Don't I get any say in the matter at all? I need you, George, and you need me! I love you!" She was biting her lip, trying not to cry.

George whirled to face her. His expression was as hard as his voice had been. "I mean it, Katie," he cried. "It's over. _We're _over. Go away."

Katie looked at him for a long minute before turning on her heel and running downstairs and out of the shop. A little later, George left too, locking the door behind him. He did not go back to The Burrow, and by midnight a search had been organised for him. After what had happened the previous day, no one was willing to let him disappear for any length of time. It was one in the morning when Oliver and Percy found him, blind drunk, in a disreputable bar in Knockturn Alley, and got him back to the flat. Percy stayed there with him while Oliver Apparated to The Burrow to let his family know that he was safe.

This could not go on much longer.

* * *

Bill and Fleur were staying at The Burrow for the foreseeable future. Bill had to go to work, and Fleur was not well enough to be at Shell Cottage on her own. Normally, she would have rebelled against this, but she was feeling so bad at the moment that she did not have the energy to do so. And she had to admit that it was nice to have someone around to look after her while she was ill. 

After Bill and Arthur had left for work, Fleur lay on the settee, pretending to flick through a magazine, but really watching her mother-in-law. Molly was bustling around as usual, and fussing over Fleur herself, but her eyes were red, and Fleur saw her wipe them surreptitiously a couple of times when she did not think that Fleur was watching.

Arthur and Bill had both looked exhausted when they left the house that morning. They had been out until well after midnight looking for George, and neither had gone to bed until Oliver had brought word that he had been found. Percy and Ron had spent the night at the flat over the shop, and Fleur suspected that with George to look after, they had had even less sleep than her husband and father-in-law. Only Charlie and Ginny had escaped the general anxiety, but Fleur remembered only too well the troubled look on Charlie's face when he had said goodbye to her yesterday. She had seen too the note Ginny had sent in response to the one informing her of George's attempted suicide. Arthur had insisted that Ginny should be told what had happened, but the note made it obvious how badly the news had upset her.

Fleur frowned abstractedly, still watching her mother-in-law. George could not be allowed to go on hurting his family like this. He was hurting himself too of course. Someone had to do something, but so far no one seemed to have found anything that would get through to George. Fleur laid her hand on her still-flat abdomen and chewed her lip thoughtfully. Maybe, just maybe,_ she _had something that might make George see just how badly his behaviour was affecting his family, and which might help him to see some hope and purpose for his own future.

But she could not talk to him here. Even if she could get him here, she definitely did not want an audience for her conversation with him. Shell Cottage was out for the same reason. She could not get George there without Bill knowing, and she did not want him to know about this until afterwards – if at all. She would have to go to the shop. That was easier said than done. At the moment, she could barely stand up without feeling horribly sick, and she knew that Apparating would make her feel infinitely worse. And she would have to escape from Molly's anxious care too – she would never willingly agree to her going anywhere right now.

Fleur set her jaw determinedly. She would wait until the afternoon, when she often felt a little better, and go then. She would escape from Molly somehow. And if Apparating made her sick – well, she would put up with that. She had to talk to George, and no one and nothing was going to stop her.

"Are you all right dear?" Molly's voice broke into her thoughts. She had obviously seen the look of determination on her daughter-in-law's face, and she sounded concerned.

Fleur managed a faint smile. "I sink so. Zo it would be so nice to be able to eat some proper food and feel well again." She could not keep the wistful note out of her voice.

Molly perched beside her on the settee and took her hand. "I know dear. You _are _having a bad time at the moment. I was sick with my pregnancies, but never as bad as you are, not even with the twins."

Fleur sighed. "I guess zat it will be worse it in ze end."

Molly squeezed her hand. "It will be, really. I know that's hard to believe at the moment, but it will."

Fleur smiled at her. "I will try and remember zat."

Fleur's opportunity came early in the afternoon. Molly had to go to the village for some shopping, and she would be gone for at least an hour. As soon as she had left, Fleur pulled herself off the settee, fighting the waves of nausea that any movement caused her. She left a scribbled note for Molly to say that she had gone out for some fresh air in case her mother-in-law returned before she did. She hoped that she would be able to Apparate without Splinching herself. She had not Apparated on her own for several weeks now – George or Angelina had been Apparating to Shell Cottage to fetch her for work, and Bill usually picked her up from the shop at the end of the day. But she was on her own now, and she _had _to do this. Taking a deep breath, she concentrated hard and Apparated to the courtyard at the back of the Leaky Cauldron. She managed not to Splinch herself, but she felt so sick and faint that it was several minutes before she was able to move from her position leaning against the wall behind the pub and make her way slowly to Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes.

She caught sight of George behind the counter before she entered the shop. He was grey-faced and hollow-eyed, and Fleur reflected that he looked almost as bad as she felt herself. Part of her mind thought uncharitably that at least _he _deserved to feel bad, but the better half recognised that no one deserved what George had been through over the last few months. Fighting down the waves of sickness that threatened to overwhelm her, Fleur took a deep breath and walked into the shop. George, Ron and Angelina were astonished – not to say horrified – to see her.

"Fleur!" Ron exclaimed, coming forward to take her arm, because she really did not look capable of standing unsupported for long. "What on earth are you doing here? Does Mum know you're here?"

Fleur began to shake her head, but realised that that was a mistake and stopped. "Non, she does not," she said. "Nor does Bill, and neizzer of zem needs to know. I 'ave to talk to you George." She turned to him, and her blue eyes met his brown ones in an unflinching stare.

"To me?" he stammered. "Why?"

"You will see," she responded. "In private. Now." There was something in her eyes that reminded both her brothers-in-law of the Veela at the World Cup when Bulgaria were losing. She was clearly going to brook no argument.

"Okay," George shrugged, looking as puzzled as he felt. "You'd better come upstairs then. Are you two okay down here for a bit?" he asked Ron and Angelina, who both nodded.

George stood back to let Fleur precede him up the stairs to the flat. "You'd better sit down," he told her. "You look awful. You really shouldn't have come, Fleur."

Fleur sank into an armchair and regarded him seriously. "I 'ad to come, George. I 'ave sings zat I 'ave to say to you. Eet ees important."

George's face clouded. "If you're going to start nagging me about drinking too much, and about what Fred would or wouldn't want, you can save your breath. I've heard it all before, Fleur."

"I 'ope zat what I am going to say ees different," Fleur told him. "But you 'ave to promeese to listen and not interrupt."

George groaned inwardly, but recognised that Fleur was not going to be swayed from her purpose. It would be better to get this over with quickly, "Fire away," he said resignedly.

Fleur took a deep breath, wishing that she did not feel quite so ill. "First of all George, you 'ave to know zat I am saying zese sings because I care about you. But I care about ze rest of your family too, and I do not sink you realise zhust 'ow much you are 'urting and worrying zem. Your parents 'ave lost zeir son, and Bill and ze ozzers 'ave lost zeir bruzzer too, but as well as mourning for Fred, zey are all 'aving to worry about you. I sink zat zey are all frightened zat zey are going to lose you too. And I sink zat zey 'ave good reason for zat."

George shook his head. "I promised Mum I wouldn't – I wouldn't try anything stupid like I did on Saturday again," he pointed out.

"I know you did, and I sink zey are all grateful for zat, George, but zere is more to it." Fleur stopped, biting her lip, fighting the nausea. "I 'ave been at Ze Burrow all weekend, and I 'ave not been well enough to do more zan zhust watch people. I 'ave seen your muzzer crying practically continuously since Charlie brought you 'ome on Saturday. I 'ave seen 'ow worried your fazzer looks."

"Mum always cries," George objected.

"Not like zis, George. Zis is different, and you know eet. And eet ees not only your parents. I 'ave never seen Charlie as upset as 'e was on Saturday, or Percy eizzer. And Bill…" She swallowed. "You know 'e woke me up on Saturday night 'aving a nightmare about when you tried to kill yourself before?"

George's head jerked up. "He told you about that?"

"Oui. 'E deed not 'ave a lot of choice when 'e 'ad woken me up screaming about eet. George… I am zhust trying to make you see zat ze way you are be'aving does not only affect you. Eet ees 'urting zose 'oo care about you too, and I sink I know you well enough now to know you would not 'urt ze people you love on purpose."

George found himself thinking about Katie, and turned away from his sister-in-law, blinking rapidly. "You don't understand, Fleur. None of you do. None of you know what it's like."

Fleur's face twisted in sympathy, and she came over to sit beside George on the settee and take his hand. " I know zat we do not. I know eet ees 'arder for you zan any of us can imagine, George. But you do 'ave a choice about 'ow you cope wiz zis." She drew a deep breath, knowing that George would almost certainly react badly to what she was going to say next. "Look at me, George," she ordered, and her brother-in-law found himself turning to face her almost against his will. Her beautiful face was very serious, her eyes full of a steely determination.

"I 'ave to say zis, George. I 'ave to," she said firmly. "Zis baby…" She put her hand protectively on her stomach. "Zis baby is your niece, and I want 'er to know 'er Uncle George, as well as 'er ozzer uncles and aunts. But…" She fixed George's gaze with her own. "Eef you carry on as you are doing, zat will not be posseeble. I 'ave to put my daughter's well-being before everysing else, and I cannot – I will not – allow you to 'ave anysing to do wiz 'er if you continue as you are."

George's face had paled considerably, and the look in his eyes was horrified. "You don't mean that?" he gasped. "You can't… Bill won't…"

"Bill will do as I ask 'im on zis," Fleur said icily.

George could tell that she was completely sincere. He stood up and went over to the window overlooking Diagon Alley, taking in none of the busy scene below him at all. "You mean it, don't you?" he said shakily.

Fleur stood and went over to him, putting a hand on his shoulder. "I do mean eet," she said softly. " I really, really 'ope zat it weell not come to zat, but eef eet does, I will do as I 'ave said. I 'ave to put my child's welfare before what you or I would want, George."

She felt his shoulders shaking with suppressed sobs, and turned so that she was facing him. "George, please," she whispered. "I do not want to stop you knowing our baby. I sink eef you do know 'er , eet will 'elp you to see some sort of – reason – for what 'appened. Zat Fred and ze ozzers 'oo died did so to make a future for les enfants like 'er. My daughter weell not know 'er Uncle Fred, and zat 'urts me. But she weell know about 'im and why 'e died. And-and I want 'er to know 'er Uncle George, 'oo is kind and loving and funny and brave…" She broke off, biting her lip hard and blinking back tears.

George drew a hand across his eyes and swallowed hard. "Okay," he murmured hoarsely. "I'll try, Fleur. I promise."

"Sank you," Fleur said, reaching up and kissing him on the cheek. As she did so, she felt a sharp pain in her lower abdomen, unlike anything she had felt before. She gave a sound that was halfway between a gasp and a moan, and felt herself losing consciousness. She was vaguely aware of George's panicked voice calling her name as she fell, and of his hand on her shoulder before she blacked out completely.

She was not aware of anything else for a long time.


	61. Monday

Sorry this has taken a while - I knew what I wanted to say but had a heck of a job getting it down on paper. Please don't hate Bill, even if he is behaving like a major idiot towards George...

For a change, cyberdaffodils for reviewers!

**Monday**

Ten minutes later, Ron, having hustled the customers out of the shop and locked the door, was haring along Diagon Alley towards Gringotts, red hair and magenta robes flying. George and Angelina had already Apparated to St. Mungo's with Fleur – still unconscious – between them. Arriving gasping in the entrance hall of the bank, Ron looked around frantically for someone who could find Bill for him. Fortunately Katie, who was crossing the hall with a stack of files, saw him and came over looking concerned.

"Ron? What's up?" she asked, frowning. "It's not George?"

Ron shook his head, still struggling for breath after his headlong rush from the shop. "No – it's not – George. Fleur – she came to – the shop to – talk to George. She – collapsed. George and Ange have taken her – to Mungo's. I need – Bill."

"I'll find him. Wait here." Katie dumped the files on a nearby counter and disappeared through a door marked _'Staff only'_. She was back in a few minutes, with Bill behind her looking more frightened than Ron ever remembered seeing him before.

"Ron? For Merlin's sake, what happened? Why was Fleur even at the shop?"

"She came to talk to George about something. They went upstairs. Next thing, George is yelling for us 'cause she'd collapsed. He and Angelina have taken her to Mungo's."

Bill sucked in a long breath and bit his lip. "Come on then."

He and Ron went outside and Disapparated from the steps of Gringotts to St. Mungo's. The welcome witch directed them along a corridor where they found George and Angelina. Angelina was sitting on a hard chair looking worried, while George was pacing restlessly to and fro.

"Where is she?" Bill asked without preamble.

"In there," George said, jerking his head towards a closed door behind them. Through the window they could see several green-robed Healers clustered around a bed. "They wouldn't let us in."

"Sod that." Bill shouldered the door open and entered.

One of the Healers turned to him with a frown. "Who are you?"

"Bill Weasley. That's my wife."

The Healer's expression softened slightly. "She's very ill, Mr. Weasley, but we're doing our best for her. Now, if you'd just like to wait outside…"

Bill shook his head. "I'm not going anywhere. I won't get in your way, but I'm staying here." He could see barely a glimpse of Fleur's silvery hair and pale face between two of the Healers around her bed. It was not much, but it was better than being on the other side of the door.

"Very well." The Healer could see that there was no point in arguing with him. "I'll talk to you properly and let you know what's happening as soon as we have a clearer idea ourselves."

"Okay. Thanks." Inwardly, Bill wondered how he was managing to sound so calm, when what he really wanted to do was scream and shout and demand that they make Fleur better _now. _

It was over an hour later when the Healers began to relax their efforts over Fleur. The Mediwitch who had spoken to Bill earlier – who was clearly in charge – said, "She's stable for now. Arrange for her transfer upstairs, and Healer Pettifer get onto that potion at once please." Turning to Bill she said, "Mr. Weasley, if you will come with me, I will explain what the situation is with your wife and what her prospects are." Casting a last glance at Fleur, still motionless on the bed, Bill followed the Healer from the room. George, Ron and Angelina were no longer waiting outside, though he scarcely noticed that in his concern for Fleur. He followed the Healer into a small office, where she motioned him to a seat.

"I am Healer Drummond, Mr. Weasley," she introduced herself. "Your wife – she is part Veela?"

Bill nodded. "Yeah. Her grandmother is a Veela."

"And this is her first pregnancy?"

Bill nodded again, wondering where this was leading. He soon found out. It seemed that Fleur was suffering from a complication of pregnancy unique to those with Veela blood, and rare even among them. Her Veela genes were reacting against the human ones in the baby, but instead of causing a simple miscarriage, in this rare condition, it caused a systemic and severe illness in the mother, that was sometimes fatal. A potion did exist that might cure her – and could even save the baby – but since the condition was so uncommon, St. Mungo's did not have a stock of it to hand, and it would have to be made specially. This would take forty-eight hours. In the meantime, the Healers would do all they could with their more commonly used charms and potions to keep Fleur and the baby stable. However, Healer Drummond made it clear that there were no guarantees that they would be able to do this, and that even the Graveela potion itself might not be effective.

Bill's mind was whirling and his senses reeling as he tried to take this in. The Mediwitch looked at him with sympathy. "I'm sorry, Mr. Weasley, I realise that this must come as a terrible shock to you. It's probable that your wife never even knew of this possibility as it is so rare. We will do our absolute best for her and the baby, but I can't make you any promises."

"Thank you," Bill said quietly. He was still trying to process the information he had been given. "Can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"Fleur – my wife – went to the shop my brother owns to talk to him today. I-I don't know why. If she hadn't… I mean, would this have happened anyway? If she'd stayed at home and rested?"

The Healer shook her head. "I can't be sure. You must understand that my knowledge of this condition is from textbooks, not firsthand. The last case St. Mungo's had was over thirty years ago. I will be contacting a colleague at St. Stefan's Hospital in Sofia to see if they can give us any help or advice. But – from what I have read – it appears that this condition may be precipitated by emotional upheaval. I don't know if that is relevant in your wife's case?" She looked at Bill questioningly, and he grimaced.

"You could say that," he said grimly, thinking back over the events of the weekend. "So it might not have happened anyway?"

Healer Drummond sighed. "It might not, but I can't say for certain. From what I have read, most cases do seem to be brought on by some kind of emotional upset." She looked at him, and seeing that he had nothing further to say, stood up. "Your wife has been transferred to a private room in our intensive treatment unit on the third floor. You are of course welcome to stay with her." She paused. "You might want to consider if there are other relatives – her parents for instance – that you should contact."

Bill stood up too. "Yeah. Thanks."

The Mediwitch put a hand on his arm. "We will do all that we can for Fleur, I promise you. And for the baby. Now, if you'll excuse me, I will ask someone to take you up to your wife's room."

Bill nodded, realising that he would be unable to say anything more without breaking down. The Healer summoned a young witch who led him to a room on the third floor where Fleur lay in a bed surrounded by magical devices that were obviously monitoring her condition. Bill perched on the bed beside her and stroked her hair. It looked as if she were just asleep, except that she was too still. Bill thought that he ought to cry, but found that he couldn't. He felt too numb. This couldn't be happening…

A while later – Bill had no idea how much later - there was a tap at the door and his mother entered. He realised with a jolt that she was probably the only person he could cope with talking to right now. He managed to relay to her what Healer Drummond had told him, in a flat emotionless voice that told Molly just how fragile his self-control was. She bit back her own tears, and put her arms around him.

"Bill dear," she murmured. "It's okay to cry you know." She felt his shoulders start to shake even before she finished speaking, and she held him close as he sobbed, rubbing his back and stroking his hair. It was several minutes before Bill was able to stop crying, and he pulled away from her, walking over to the window and fighting to regain his composure. Molly watched him with concern, but did not approach him again. She knew her son well enough to know that he would not be able to calm down if she was near to him.

Eventually Bill spoke. His voice was shaky, but approaching normal. "What happened to George and Ron?"

"They went back to the shop after Ron came to get me. I said I'd let them know what was happening."" Molly paused. "Did you know Fleur was planning to go to the shop? George wouldn't tell me why she was there."

Bill shook his head. "No, I had no idea. I need to talk to George, Mum. I need to know."

Molly frowned. She knew that in Bill's position she would find it very hard not to hold George responsible for what had happened, however illogical that might be. And from the little George _had _said to her earlier, it was apparent that he was already blaming himself. She walked over and put a hand on Bill's arm. "This isn't George's fault, Bill," she said.

"I know." But there was something in Bill's tone that told Molly he wasn't convinced. "I just… I need to talk to him Mum, please."

"Okay. I'll ask him to come. I assume you're staying here with Fleur?"

"Yeah. I'm not leaving her." Bill's voice cracked and he swallowed. "Can-can you let Fleur's parents know what's happened? They ought to know."

"Of course, dear. And I'll ask George to come over once the shop's shut." She wanted to ask Bill not to be too hard on his brother, but there was something in the expression in his eyes that told her such a request would be fruitless. She reached up and kissed Bill on the cheek. "Dad or I will come in later. Let us know if you need anything."

"Okay. Thanks Mum."

Left on his own with Fleur, Bill sank into the chair beside the bed and took her unresponsive hand in his. His mind was still rebelling against this. He still could not believe what had happened, that he might lose Fleur. He smoothed her hair back from her clammy forehead, biting his lip as he felt the tears overflowing again. "Hang in there, Fleur, please," he whispered. "I can't get by without you. You know I can't."

It was early evening when George arrived, looking distinctly nervous. He could not help feeling at least partly responsible for Fleur's illness, and he thought it likely that Bill might see things the same way. Seeing Fleur lying so still in the hospital bed with the magical machines monitoring her condition whirring and buzzing around her brought home to George just how bad things were. Beforehand, a large part of his brain had been clinging to the hope that here was nothing seriously wrong, that she would be better and home in a day or two. His already pale face whitened further at the sight of his sister-in-law and at the look in his brother's eyes.

"Bill, I'm so sorry," he said, putting a hand on Bill's shoulder, but he shook him off.

"What happened George? Why was she even at the shop?"

George's face turned from white to red. "She-she came to talk to me about the way I've been behaving. I-I know I've been an idiot, Bill. I'm sorry…"

"What did she say?" Bill's eyes were hard, his expression unreadable.

"Things." George found that he did not want to repeat his conversation with Fleur to anyone, even Bill. If Fleur chose to when – if – she came round, fair enough. He wasn't going to. He raised his eyes to meet his brother's. "She-she made me see how badly I've been hurting the rest of you, and I'm sorry. I'm not going to tell you the rest of it."

"Why not? Don't you think I have the right to know?" Bill's voice was rising.

"It-it doesn't matter, Bill. Not now. It might not even…" George found that he could not finish the sentence. "Look, Bill, I'm more sorry than I can say that this has happened, and if telling you would make Fleur better, I would, but…"

Bill glared at him. "You upset her. The Healer said something like that could bring this on."

George swallowed hard and dropped his eyes to the floor. "She was upset already," he muttered. "It wasn't the conversation today that did that. And I know that a lot of the reason that she was upset is my fault, and I'm sorry. I never meant to hurt _anyone_. I'm sorry, Bill, really."

Bill sighed deeply and turned away from George, biting back tears. "Being sorry might not be enough," he said bitterly. "Just go, George. I can't cope with this right now."

George raised his eyes to look at his brother, but it was apparent that Bill was not going to turn around while he was still there. "Okay," he choked. "I really _am _sorry, Bill."

He got no response. Bill did not turn around until he heard the door close behind his brother.


	62. Monday Evening

No resolution here (because I'm mean), but some conversations and thoughts that set things up for the next chapter. I'm glad most people are able to forgive Bill - please continue to do so!

Please review if you pass this way.

**Monday evening**

George had no idea where he was headed when he left St. Mungo's. He just walked aimlessly, seeing where his feet would take him. He could not blame Bill for holding him responsible for Fleur's illness when he was doing the same himself. If he had not behaved so badly over the last few weeks, if he had not tried to kill himself on Saturday, he would not have upset everyone so much. Fred would never have behaved like this if it had been him who had died… (Or maybe he would. Several people had told him that they thought he was coping better than Fred would have done if their positions were reversed. How wrong they were. He wasn't coping at all, and this was the result.) If Fleur had not been upset, she might still be okay, and Bill would not hate him…

George found himself in a Muggle street outside a pub full of noisy young people. He had Muggle money in his pocket, and the temptation to go in and lose himself in the crowd and drink until everything hurt less was overwhelming. He made his way in, and pushed his way through to the bar. But as he scrabbled in his pocket for his money, he heard Fleur's voice in his mind: _"You do 'ave a choice about 'ow you cope wiz zis"_. He thought about her threat that he would not be able to have anything to do with his niece (she seemed very certain that the baby was a girl) if he carried on as he was. But now – did it matter now? The baby might die. _Fleur _might die. That thought brought George up with a jolt. Fleur was much more to him now than just his brother's wife. He knew that if the worst did happen, he would miss her for who she was herself, not just because Bill would be upset. (Upset? That was an understatement. Devastated more like.)

Suddenly, George knew that he could not let Fleur down. Maybe if he resisted the temptation to drown his feelings in alcohol, it might even help her somehow. Somewhere in the back of his mind he could hear Fred laughing at him for being superstitious and sentimental, but he didn't care. "Shut up, Fred!" he muttered, shoving his money back in his pocket, and making his way out of the pub. He found a quiet alleyway with no Muggles around, and Disapparated to The Burrow. He wanted to be with his family right now.

He was not surprised to find Percy and Ron already there, sitting around the kitchen table with their parents eating – or trying to eat. By the look of the still half-full plates in front of everyone – even Ron – no one had much appetite this evening. His mother stood up as George came in through the back door, fetching a plate for him and ladling stew onto it.

"Thanks Mum," George said, taking a seat at the table next to Percy.

"How was Bill?" his father asked.

George shrugged and pushed his food round his plate with his fork. "Angry," he admitted reluctantly. "He has a right to be."

Both Arthur and Molly frowned. "This isn't your fault, George," his father said firmly. "Bill's worried sick. He's not thinking straight."

But George shook his head. "He is. This _is_ my fault, at least partly. The Healer said that being upset could have made Fleur ill. And the reason she's upset is because of me – the way I've behaved lately, especially Saturday, and how it's affected everyone else. There's no point in arguing about it. If it wasn't for me, Fleur would probably be okay."

"You don't know that, George," Percy objected. "And you didn't set out to hurt anyone."

"I still did though, didn't I? I should have seen how I was affecting the rest of you," George said forcefully. "I'm sorry. I really am." He pushed his plate of untouched stew away and hid his face in his hands.

Molly left her seat at the end of the table and came to sit beside him, putting her arm around his shoulders. "George dear, Percy's right," she murmured. "You didn't mean to hurt anyone."

"I did though." George's voice was muffled by his hands.

"This isn't your fault, George," Molly insisted. "Even Bill will see that sooner or later. Hush, dear, hush."

For George had begun to cry, sobs racking his whole body as his mother pulled him into a hug. "I'm sorry, Mum. I'm sorry," George choked, and she rubbed his back and stroked his hair as she had for Bill earlier, blinking back her own tears. "I don't – I can't – not without Fred. I don't know how, Mum. I can't – I miss him. And now Fleur – she was trying to help me. I didn't mean to hurt her. I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

"Hush, Georgie, hush, it's okay," Molly murmured. "I know you miss Fred. We all do. But you'll get through this. You're not on your own, George. And Fleur – she'll be alright, she _has_ to be."

She exchanged a look with Arthur. How much more would their family have to go through? They had lost Fred. They had almost lost Charlie. And now Fleur's life was in danger. And George – they had come so close to losing him too, and Molly wondered despairingly whether he would ever come through his grief for his twin and be able to move on with his life. Not get over losing Fred – how could he? Molly knew that wasn't possible. But somehow come to terms with his loss so that he could go on and live as Fred would want him to. There had been times over the last few months when Molly had begun to think that that might be possible. But then there were other times – like the last few weeks – when it seemed it could never happen. She held George close, murmuring quietly to him and gradually he got his sobs under control. Arthur, Percy and Ron cleared the table, and Ron made coffee, but George and Molly remained where they were, George still clinging to his mother as if he would never let her go.

At last, Arthur came over and put a hand on his shoulder. "Come on now, George," he said firmly. "Stop strangling your mother and come and have some coffee. Come on now, son."

George released his mother reluctantly and pulled himself upright. He stumbled into the living room, where Percy and Ron were already sitting drinking their coffee. George slumped onto the settee and Ron wordlessly passed him a mug. In the kitchen, Arthur had pulled Molly into his arms and was holding her as she cried into his shoulder.

"Oh, Arthur," she gasped. "How much more?"

He knew what she meant, but didn't have an answer for her, just held her close until she was calm again. Once she was, he said, "Come and sit down with the boys and have some coffee, love. We'll get through this somehow. I'm going to go to Shell Cottage to pick up some clothes and things for Bill, and then to St. Mungo's. I'll be back as soon as I can."

Molly nodded. "You'd better take some of that fruit cake and some chocolate and coffee too," she told him. "He won't have eaten anything."

"Good idea," Arthur agreed, leading her into the living room where Percy, George and Ron were sitting in gloomy silence. Ron re-heated the coffee with his wand, and poured his mother a cup. She took it, and sank gratefully into the armchair.

"I'm going to Mungo's," Arthur told his sons. "I hope I won't be too late back." They nodded – or Percy and Ron did, George seemed barely to notice his father's presence in the room – and Arthur left with a look at Percy and Ron which meant: "Look after George and your mother," which he hoped they had understood.

When Arthur arrived at the hospital, he found Bill sitting in the chair beside Fleur's bed holding her hand. Fleur herself lay so still and looked so pale that it was hard to believe that she was still alive. Bill had a look in his eyes which reminded his father of how he had looked as an eleven-year-old on the Hogwarts Express for the first time – scared stiff, but trying to be brave and not show how he was feeling.

Arthur dumped the bag he was carrying by the door and pulled over another chair so that he could sit beside Bill. "How're you doing, son?" he asked gently, putting a hand on his shoulder.

Bill's mouth twisted. "I-I can't cope with this, Dad. I can't lose her, I just can't." He shut his eyes, fighting against tears, and Arthur pulled him into a hug.

"Oh Bill…" He wished he could tell him that Fleur would be fine, but how could he? He decided to deal with the practical for now. "I've brought you some clothes and things," he said, gesturing towards the bag on the floor. "And there's a flask of coffee and some chocolate and some of your mother's fruit cake. She said you wouldn't have eaten anything."

"I'm not hungry." Bill's voice was flat and expressionless.

Arthur squeezed his shoulder. "You have to look after yourself. It won't help Fleur if you're ill." Unspoken between them was the knowledge that the Full Moon was only four days away, that Bill _would _be ill on Friday whatever happened.

Bill swallowed. "Okay. I'll try. Did you owl Fleur's parents?"

"Yeah," Arthur replied. "And Charlie and Ginny. I thought they ought to know."

"Thanks." Suddenly, Bill turned and buried his face in his father's shoulder. He was not crying, but Arthur could feel his whole body shaking. He held his son close, rubbing his back, wishing he could make things right again.

After a few minutes, Bill pulled away, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. "Sorry," he muttered.

"You don't need to be sorry, Bill," Arthur told him. He paused and looked Bill in the eye. Bill guessed what he was thinking.

"Are you going to tell me this isn't George's fault?" he demanded.

"Whether it is or not doesn't matter, Bill," his father said. "What matters is that he never meant to hurt anyone, least of all Fleur or the baby. He said she came to the shop to try to help him. D'you really think she'd want you to blame him for this?"

"I don't know, do I?" asked Bill hotly. "I can hardly ask her, can I?"

"I know you can't, but… Think about it, Bill. If-if the worst does happen, do you really want George to feel more responsible than he already does? Don't you think he's been through enough?" Bill stood, and walked over to the window, his back to his father. It was clear that he was not going to answer.

"Just think about it, Bill, please," Arthur said quietly. "I know you're hurting, but blaming George isn't going to help. It's not like you to be unkind and unreasonable, and you're being both at the moment." There was no response. Bill leant his forehead against the cool glass of the window, blinking back fresh tears. He knew he was behaving badly towards George, but he didn't seem able to help himself. He wished desperately that Charlie was there. Charlie might not condone how he was treating George, but Bill knew he would understand as no one else seemed to.

Arthur watched him for a few minutes, then sighed and stood up. He came over and put his arm round Bill's shoulders. "I need to go, son," he said. "Send your Patronus or Floo us if you need anything. Someone'll be in in the morning to see how you're doing."

Bill's tense shoulders relaxed slightly, and he turned and hugged his father. "Okay. Thanks," he muttered.

Once he was alone once more with Fleur, Bill fell back into the chair and buried his face in his hands. His head ached and his scars were beginning to tingle unpleasantly. He had a feeling that the long scar on his left arm which caused him so much trouble had reopened again already, although he was not going to check under the bandage he now wore almost habitually to see. Thinking about the Full Moon on Friday frankly terrified him. He'd never been through one without Fleur with him before, and the prospect of doing so made him cold with fear. And the thought he might have to go through the rest of his life without Fleur, that he might lose her… He shuddered and began to cry hopelessly. He wished desperately that Charlie was there.


	63. Tuesday: George and

Author's note at the end for once.

**Tuesday - George and...**

**Tuesday Morning – The Burrow**

"Ron, go and tell George that if he wants some breakfast this morning, he needs to come downstairs now," Molly said irritably. Arthur, Percy and Ron were gathered around the table while Molly dished up bacon and eggs. Ron nodded and disappeared in the direction of the stairs. He was back in less than a minute.

"He's not there," he said flatly, and the others turned to him in surprise.

"Where is he then?" his mother demanded with a definite note of panic in her voice, and Arthur went over and put his arm round her shoulders.

"Calm down, love," he said quietly. "He'll be fine. He promised he wouldn't do anything stupid again. He's probably just gone to the shop already." He glanced at Ron, who took the hint and stood up.

"I'll check," he said, going out to the yard. They heard the crack as he Disapparated. The others returned to their interrupted breakfast, Arthur insisting that Molly should sit down and eat something despite her protests that she was not hungry. Ron was back again before they had finished.

"He's not at the shop," he said, concern evident in his voice. They all looked at each other, wondering whether this was a cause for worry or not. George might simply have gone for a walk to be by himself for a bit – _or _he might have done what everyone kept euphemistically referring to as _"something stupid"_. After Saturday's events, it was practically impossible for his family not to worry about his unexplained absence.

"Would he have gone to Mungo's?" Ron asked doubtfully.

"I doubt it," Arthur replied. "With Bill blaming him for what's happened? I think that'd be the last place he'd go."

"The graveyard then," said Percy, standing up. "I'll look there."

"Okay," his father said. "Ron, sit down and have some breakfast. You'll have to go soon, if the shop's opening today."

"Any news from Bill?" Ron asked as he sat at the table and Percy went out of the back door.

"No," his mother sighed. "He would have contacted us if…if…"

"Yes, he would," Arthur said firmly. "There's no reason to believe that Fleur won't hold her own until that potion's ready. Try not to worry about something that may not happen, Molly. We need to be strong for Bill."

"I know," Molly said, but she wiped her eyes on her apron when Arthur and Ron were not looking.

**Tuesday Morning – The Graveyard, Ottery St. Catchpole**

George woke early and knew that he would not be able to get back to sleep. The events of the last few days had replayed themselves over and over in his dreams. Charlie screaming when he broke his arm. The sight of the sea foaming over the rocks at the base of the cliff. Katie's face when he told her to go. The bar in Knockturn Alley. Oliver and Percy practically carrying him home. Fleur saying he would not be able to have anything to do with her baby if he carried on as he was. Fleur collapsing at his feet. The panic in Angelina's face when she came upstairs and saw what had happened. Bill saying, "Being sorry might not be enough", in a hard bitter voice that did not sound like Bill at all. The pub the previous evening. Percy and his mother reminding him that he never meant to hurt anyone…

He had not meant to hurt anyone – but he had been hurting those who cared about him badly for weeks now. Fleur's illness was just the culmination of that. George rolled out of bed and dressed quickly. There was only one place he wanted – needed – to be at the moment.

He Apparated at the gates of the graveyard and walked slowly over to the corner where Fred was buried. He knelt down and put his hand on the cold stone, shivering and wishing that he had thought to put on his cloak. There were Christmas roses on the grave which he knew that Charlie had left before he returned to Romania on Sunday, and deep orange dahlias which he thought were probably from his father. Sighing, he pulled out his own wand and conjured a bunch of bright yellow sunflowers, together with a lurid orange toy windmill which he thought Fred would appreciate.

"Nice."

George's head jerked up. That wasn't his subconscious, it was – though it couldn't be – Fred.

"F-Fred?"

"Who else?" George could almost hear his twin grinning.

"What the hell? You're…"

"Dead? Yeah, I'd noticed. Hard not to."

"Then how come you're here?"

"I'm always with you, George." Fred's tone was sober now.

George snorted. "Can't say I'd noticed."

"I know. I'm sorry. Most of the time I'm not allowed to talk to you."

George stood up and walked away from the grave impatiently. He was clearly imagining things.

"You're not. I'm still here."

"You can't be."

"Well, I am. I've got special permission to talk to you, but I don't know whether it'll happen again, so make the most of it, brother dear."

"You mean you keep the rules? Fred Weasley keeping the rules?"

"You kinda have to here."

"Fred, you bastard, I've missed you."

"Yeah, I know. Sorry. I've missed you too."

"Can you miss someone when you're dead?"

"Apparently. It's okay here, but it'd be better if you were here too. Though I'm glad you're not."

"I nearly was," George muttered.

"I know. Thank Merlin for Charlie. That's why I'm allowed to talk to you now. You mustn't do something like that again, George, you really mustn't. What about Mum and Dad? And you have a life to live for the both of us. What about the shop? And Katie? Though I always thought she had better taste…"

"I chucked her."

"Well, that was a bloody stupid thing to do, wasn't it? You need to sort _that _out for a start."

George could feel his eyes filling with tears and brushed his hand across them impatiently. "You make it sound so _fucking _simple, Fred. Do you know how hard this is?"

"No, I guess I don't. And I'm sorry. But you were doing okay for a while. I liked those fireworks."

George snorted again. "Yeah, I can still manage fireworks. I always was better at them than you were."

"Says you! Look George, I know it's hard. I know it's not fair. I'd never have done this to you if I'd had a choice, you know I wouldn't. But you have to keep going somehow. I wish I could make it easier for you."

"Are you really always there?"

"Yep. Really."

"I don't believe it. I'm hallucinating 'cause I _want_ you to be here."

"George… Look, I'll prove it to you. Look at the Hangman in the window of the shop when you get there later."

"What?"

"Just look, George. That won't hurt, will it? Listen, I've got to go. Percy's coming. Remember what Fleur said, okay? And _do _it."

"Fred…"

"What?"

"Is she going to be okay? Fleur?"

He could have sworn he heard Fred sigh. "I can't tell you that. Sorry."

"Do you _know_?"

"Can't tell you that, either."

"Godric, Fred…"

"I'm sorry, George. As I said, you have to keep the rules here. Just don't be too hard on Bill, okay? He's a reasonable bloke, but he's not reasonable when it comes to Fleur."

George managed a faint smile. "Yeah, I had realised that."

"I do have to go. I'm sorry. I'm always with you though, Georgie. Don't forget. And get your act together, for my sake. Okay?"

"O-okay."

"Good. See ya!"

* * *

"George!" That was Percy's voice, not Fred's. George shook himself, and turned towards the gates of the graveyard. Percy was walking rapidly towards him, a look on his face that betrayed a mixture of concern and exasperation. 

"Merlin, George, do you _know _how worried we've been?"

"I'm-I'm sorry. I-I just needed to come here."

"And you couldn't've left a note?" Exasperation was definitely winning out over concern now. ""Ron's been to the shop looking for you, and Mum's on the verge of hysterics. Don't you think we've got enough to worry about right now?"

George swallowed. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm sorry, Perce. Really."

Percy looked at him keenly, and his somewhat irritable tone softened. "Are you okay, George?"

George managed a smile. "Yeah. Yeah, I am. C'mon let's go home, and I'll grovel to Mum. Any news from Bill?"

Percy shook his head gravely. "I guess that means Fleur's no worse at least."

George grimaced. "That's something, if not much."

"Are you going to try and make things up with Bill?" Percy asked curiously.

George shook his head. "Not now. He has enough on his plate without me pestering him. We can sort things out once Fleur's better."

_If she gets better._

Neither of them said it.

"Let's go home," said Percy. He gripped George's arm, and the two of them Apparated together back to The Burrow.

* * *

_A/N So, I guess the people who voted for Fred in my poll were kind of right too. I was adamant that there wasn't going to be a Fred and George conversation in this fic, but the twins were having none of it..._

_Charlie, Ginny and probably Bill in the next chapter (they were going to be in this one, but it got too impossibly long.) I'm away for Easter weekend, so the next one might not be up till after then._

_Please leave a review. Pretty please..._


	64. Still Tuesday

Sorry this has been a long time in coming. Bill was being very unco-operative. Resolution in the next chapter, I promise.

Please leave a review.

**Still Tuesday**

**Tuesday morning – Hogwarts**

Ron's tiny owl, Pigwidgeon, arrived in front of Ginny several minutes after the rest of the post owls had been and gone. He stuck out his leg fro Ginny to remove the attached letter, before sinking his beak into Harry's pumpkin juice and beginning to drink thirstily.

"Get out!" Harry told him, crumbling some cornflakes in front of the owl for him to eat. (Pigwidgeon carried on drinking.) "What does Ron want, Ginny?"

"It's Dad's writing, not Ron's," said Ginny, as she opened the note and scanned it quickly, uttering an exclamation of horror.

"What's wrong?" asked Harry and Hermione in unison, but Ginny was standing up, the note screwed up in her hand.

"I-I'll meet you in Transfiguration," she muttered, before bolting from the Great Hall, leaving the other two staring at each other in puzzlement.

"What on earth..?" asked Hermione, her eyebrows raised.

"Ravenclaw only knows," replied Harry. "She looked pretty upset though. We'd better try and find her and see what's up. What about Pig? Do we send him home?"

"Keep him for now in case that note needs an answer," said Hermione, draining her glass of pumpkin juice and standing up. "I'll look in the dormitory. Where else might she have gone?"

"Dunno. Fred's corridor?" Harry asked, grabbing Pigwidgeon and ramming him into the pocket of his robes,

"Worth a try. You look there. I'll meet you in the common room," said Hermione, as the two of them left the Great Hall.

Harry found Ginny leaning against the wall in what was becoming universally known as "Fred's corridor". She had a forbidding look on her face and her lips were set in a hard line. Harry wasn't sure whether she would burst into tears or hex him if he said anything.

"Gin?" he asked quietly. "What's up? Are you okay?"

For reply, Ginny thrust the screwed up note into his hands, and turned away from him, biting her lip. Harry read the note rapidly.

"Oh no!" he exclaimed. "Poor Fleur. And poor Bill."

Ginny made a strangled sound at the mention of her brother's name, and Harry put an arm round her shoulders. "She'll be okay, Ginny. I'm sure she will." Inwardly he was wondering why Ginny was quite so upset. She and Fleur got on reasonably well these days, but it was no secret that Ginny still found her sister-in-law intensely annoying on occasion, and there were still undertones in their relationship of the days when Ginny referred to Fleur as "Phlegm".

Ginny pulled away from Harry, and turned to face the wall rather than him. "I was horrible to her," she said, in a voice so quiet that Harry had to strain to hear her.

"Ginny… That's ancient history," he pointed out. "Why are you worrying about that now?"

"You don't understand!" Ginny actually stamped her foot, and Harry had a shrewd suspicion that she was trying to make herself angry in order to stop herself from crying. "I was _jealous _of her, Harry! It wouldn't have mattered _what _sort of person she was. As far as I was concerned, she was taking my brother away form me, and that's the only reason I was so nasty to her. I didn't bother how it was making her feel – or Bill. I didn't bother to find out if I could like her or not. I was just determined not to." She stopped, breathing hard, and wrapping her arms around herself as if she were cold.

"Gin…" Harry put his arm round her shoulders again. "It's okay. That was ages ago. I'm sure Fleur and Bill don't hold it against you now."

Ginny made the strangled sound that was almost a sob again. "I'm scared, Harry. I'm scared for Bill. If-if Fleur dies, he…" She hid her face briefly in Harry's shoulder and swallowed hard before pulling away and continuing. "He won't cope, Harry, I know he won't. And Bill's the person who holds our family together. If Fleur dies…"

Harry put his hands on her shoulders and bent slightly to look her in the eye. "If Fleur dies, Ginny, then we'll be there for Bill and get him through it the same way as everyone's got George through since Fred died. I know it's been tough, but your family is tough." He stopped and drew a deep breath. "Anyway, I won't believe it. I won't believe Fleur's going to die. She knows how much Bill needs her and she won't give up without a fight. And this family needs that baby. I don't believe we're going to lose either of them."

Ginny almost smiled at the way Harry had switched from "_your_ family" to "_we_" as he was talking. She wondered if he even realised he had done it. She relaxed slightly and let him pull her into a hug, and kiss her.

"I hope you're right," she murmured.

Harry didn't answer, just holding her close and kissing her again. There was the sound of a bell, and the noise of students on the move in the corridors. Ginny pulled away from Harry and drew her hand across her eyes. "Come on," she said, as firmly as she could manage. "Transfiguration."

**Tuesday morning – St. Mungo's**

Bill woke from a couple of hours of uneasy sleep curled in the chair beside Fleur's bed. It took him a few seconds to realise where he was and why. Once he did remember, he looked in panic at his wife, terrified that something might have happened to her while he slept. But the magical machines around her were still buzzing and humming serenely, and he could see that she was breathing, although she lay as motionless and unresponsive as ever. He perched on the edge of the bed beside her and bent and kissed her. This still seemed unreal, like a bad dream he couldn't wake up from. He had never felt so helpless or so frightened in his life.

The door opened and Healer Drummond entered. She gave Bill a slight smile and a "Good morning" before coming over to check on Fleur. When she had finished, she smiled at Bill again.

"She's holding her own," she told him. "The baby's okay so far too. Your girl's tougher than she looks, Mr. Weasley."

"Bill," he said automatically, managing a smile. "Yeah. The way she looks tends to fool people. It makes her so mad when people think because she's beautiful she must be stupid or weak. She's nothing of the sort."

"I imagine not." Healer Drummond put a hand on Bill's arm. "She was a Triwizard Champion, wasn't she?"

Bill nodded. "Before I knew her. We got together after the Tournament ended."

"How long have you been married?" Healer Drummond asked. She gave the impression of being genuinely interested.

"Eighteen months, just over. We got married in the middle of the war. Probably not a good idea, but…"

The Healer shook her head. "I think it was a good idea. My fiancé was Muggleborn, and he was killed by Voldemort's people first time around. I often wonder if it would have been easier if we'd been married."

"I'm sorry." Bill's mouth twisted in sympathy. "That must have been hard."

Healer Drummond sighed. "It was a long time ago." Her tone changed suddenly. "What have you done to your arm?" she asked sharply.

Bill looked down and swore. The sleeve of his jumper was wet with blood. "Scar's re-opened," he said. "It does sometimes."

"Sit down," Healer Drummond commanded, suddenly back in full Mediwitch mode. "You'd better let me look at it."

Bill sat, and let her roll up his sleeve and unwrap the blood-soaked bandage. Part of his mind had been aware that his arm was hurting badly, but he had been so focused on Fleur that he had disregarded it. The Healer re-dressed the long gash on his forearm, and then looked at him seriously.

"Does this happen often?" she asked.

"That one never seems to heal properly," Bill admitted reluctantly. "It re-opened in December, and then just as it was healing up I had an accident and it split again. It's not really got any better since."

"Hmm." Healer Drummond regarded him keenly. "Do you mind telling me what attacked you? Was it a werewolf?"

Bill nodded, repressing a shudder. "Yes, it was. But he wasn't transformed at the time, so I'm not…"

"A werewolf? I'm glad to hear it. I imagine that Full Moons aren't easy for you though, are they?" Her voice was sympathetic, and Bill found himself biting back tears as he shook his head.

"Have you found anything that helps?" the Healer asked gently.

"No," Bill replied. "Pain-relieving potions actually make it worse. I haven't tried anything else."

"Do you mind if I do some research on your behalf?" Healer Drummond asked. "There may well be something out there that could help you."

"Okay." Bill wasn't sure why he was discussing this with a complete stranger when he wouldn't with most of his family. "I'd be glad if there was something, but…"

"Yes?"

"Don't-don't say anything to my family. My parents know, and one of my brothers, but not the others."

She smiled. "Of course I won't. Patient confidentiality, and all that." She frowned. "You need to take care of yourself, Bill. I know that it's difficult and you don't want to leave Fleur, but you need to eat and get some decent sleep. Fleur is going to need you if she's going to get through this. It won't help her if you're ill."

Bill grimaced. "I-I'll try. But it's hard."

"I know," she said quietly. "Now, I must go and see some other patients. I'll be back later."

"Okay. And thanks."

Bill returned to the chair beside Fleur's bed, his mind whirling. He had always resisted seeking help for the nightmare that Full Moons caused him, although Fleur, and more recently Charlie, had tried to persuade him to do so. He wasn't sure why he was so resistant to the idea, although part of it was because he hated talking – or even thinking – about what happened to him when the moon was full. But he had to admit that part of his resistance was due to a fear that he would get his hopes up and then be disappointed if there was nothing that could help. But Healer Drummond had seemed confident that there would be something… He sighed and shook his head. That wasn't important right now. His problem could wait. It was Fleur who mattered now.

**Tuesday morning – Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes**

George arrived at the shop half an hour after opening time. He still had a definite feeling of unreality. It couldn't have been Fred in the graveyard. It just couldn't. Fred was dead. He had spent the last ten months trying – and often failing – to come to terms with the fact. Now it seemed that Fred was still with him.

Or he wasn't.

He had been imagining things.

He had to be.

You couldn't have conversations with dead people.

It had sounded like Fred.

Well, it would, wouldn't it? If anyone knew Fred well enough for their subconscious to construct a believable conversation with him, it was George.

It was his imagination.

It had to be.

He held out until nearly lunchtime before giving in and going to look at the Hangman in the window. The gallows of the demonstration model were nearly complete, the little man just mounting the steps to his doom. And the words in front of the gallows spelt out: _"Give 'em hell from me, George."_ George bit his lip to stop himself from crying out. He knew that the letters had made the name of the shop the previous day. He hadn't changed them. His hand shaking, he rearranged the letters to say: _"Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes"_, before turning back into the shop and asking Ron and Angelina in a would-be casual voice if either of them had rearranged the Hangman letters. Angelina shook her head, and Ron looked frankly incredulous. "No," he said. "Why on earth would we?"

"No reason." George had to suppress a grin, before it hit him what this meant. He muttered something to the others, and bolted upstairs, shutting himself in his – his and Fred's – room. He flung himself onto Fred's bed and buried his face in the pillow. He didn't know whether to laugh or cry, and realised that he was actually doing both at once. It was twenty minutes before he stopped shaking. Eventually, he pulled himself together enough to stumble into the bathroom and splash cold water on his face. Emerging onto the landing, he found Ron, who looked at him worriedly.

"George?" he asked. "Are you okay?"

George nodded and smiled weakly. "Yeah," he said. "Yeah, I think I am."

**Tuesday afternoon - Srenivici Dragon Reserve, Romania**

It was mid-afternoon before Percy's owl, Hermes, arrived at the dragon-keepers' hostel where Charlie lived, having been to Fleur's parents' home with a message for them first. Charlie was working, and Rajiv Mistry detached the message from Hermes' leg, before finding a drink and something to eat for the obviously tired owl. He wondered if he ought to go and find Charlie and give him the letter, but realised that by the time he had got to him – it was the Chinese Fireballs' breeding season, and Charlie might be in any one of several locations – Charlie's shift would be over and he would be on his way back to the hostel. So he contented himself with leaving the note in the middle of the kitchen table, thinking that Charlie would certainly see it when he came in.

Unfortunately, Charlie, Idris and Louis had decided to celebrate the hatching of a clutch of seven Fireball eggs, and returned to the hostel only to change before going out again, rather than congregating in the kitchen as they usually did after a shift. Rajiv himself was working that evening, and had left before they came in. So Arthur's note to Charlie remained unnoticed on the table until the following day.


	65. Tuesday into Wednesday

_A/N at the end this time._

**Tuesday Evening to Wednesday Lunchtime**

**Tuesday Evening – England**

Percy and Ron went to the hospital on Tuesday evening and, ignoring Bill's protests and arguments, bullied him into going to Viggo's with them for a couple of hours for a break and a meal, while their mother sat with Fleur. He flatly refused to go back to The Burrow for the night however, despite Molly's offer to stay at the hospital overnight. Percy and Ron were shocked at Bill's appearance. He seemed to have aged ten years since the previous day, and his face was grey-white, making the horrific scars, which people who knew him usually found easy enough to ignore, stand out vividly by contrast. There was a trapped, hopeless look in his eyes too that frankly scared his brothers. Bill was the one who was usually in control, who coped when the rest of them didn't. It was horribly apparent, however, that he was not coping with this at all. Neither Percy nor Ron liked to think of how he would react if the worst did happen and Fleur died. He said scarcely a word while they were out, and both his brothers noticed that his left arm was obviously hurting him badly, and that he ate his meal one-handed.

When Percy and his mother returned to The Burrow, after leaving Bill at St. Mungo's, there was a note from Fleur's parents saying that they would be arriving in England early the following morning. Hermes was hooting happily in the pear tree outside the kitchen window, but there was no word from Charlie. Molly bade Percy goodnight and went upstairs, but he remained in the kitchen, frowning absentmindedly at Monsieur Delacour's spiky French handwriting on the note on the table. Why hadn't they heard from Charlie? It was nearly midnight – even later in Romania – there had been plenty of time for him to send a reply to their father's note, or even to come himself. For Charlie of all people to ignore the fact that Bill was in such trouble was unheard of.

Percy walked over to the calendar hanging next to his mother's clock (Charlie's hand pointing to _"work" _he noticed, Fleur's recently-added one to _"mortal peril"_) and frowned some more as he looked at it. Perhaps Charlie didn't realise how bad things were. Perhaps he had forgotten what was due on Friday. Perhaps he simply hadn't received the note for some reason… Percy shook his head irritably and went in search of parchment and quill. This would not do. Bill needed Charlie.

**Wednesday Morning – Srenivici Dragon Reserve**

Charlie found the note from his father on the table when he came downstairs on Wednesday morning. Having sat down to eat his breakfast, he was on his feet again within seconds.

"Anyone know where the boss is?" he demanded of the room at large.

"Still at the Lodge," replied Rex, who had just come in with Rajiv and Andreas from a night on the reserve – they frequently worked round the clock during the various dragons' breeding seasons. "And he's in a foul mood. That big Fireball trampled her eggs. What's up, Charlie?"

"My sister-in-law's ill," Charlie said. "I have to go home."

"Hell, Charlie!" Rajiv looked horrified. "That note came yesterday. I thought you'd see it when you came in. I'm sorry."

"We went straight out," Charlie explained. "Not your fault, Raj. You weren't to know what it said. I'd better go and brave the Old Man's wrath. Wish me luck."

"You'll need it, mate," Rajiv said. "He's not a happy man this morning."

Rajiv was right, unfortunately. Dr. Vieuxhomme was not in the mood to accommodate Charlie's request for immediate leave.

"You can't just swan off when you feel like it in the middle of the breeding season, Weasley," he growled.

Charlie sighed. His boss's use of his surname was not a good sign, but he persisted. "Sir, I wouldn't ask if it wasn't an emergency…"

"Well, I don't think it is," Dr. Vieuxhomme said. "It's not as if your brother has no other family in England, is it?"

Charlie opened his mouth to protest, but his boss cut him short. "No arguments, Weasley," he insisted. "We need everyone right now, and you aren't going anywhere. We can't afford to lose any more eggs. Now go. You were due on site five minutes ago."

Charlie glared at him, but knew from experience that further argument would be fruitless.

Idris, Ali and Louis looked up when Charlie joined them in the prep room, looking as if he would like to commit murder.

"No luck?" asked Idris.

Charlie shook his head. "None. Rex and Rajiv were right. He's in a terrible mood." He sighed. "Where d'you want me, Idris?"

"Second sector with Louis. There are three more egg clutches there and one litter hatched. If we lose any more the Old Man'll go mad."

"Okay," Charlie said, secretly thinking that he didn't much care _what_ their boss thought at this moment.

"What's wrong with Fleur?" asked Louis abruptly, looking concerned.

"Godric Lou, I'm sorry." Charlie turned worried eyes on his friend. "I forgot you knew her." He shrugged. "Some weird complication of pregnancy that only Veelas get, apparently. She-she might die." He swallowed hard, as the reality hit him for the first time. If Fleur died, Bill… He didn't finish the thought, but turned away from the others, grabbing his protective gauntlets and the goad he hated using but was forced to on occasion. "Let's get this bloody shift over with," he said. "And I'm going home after it whatever the Old Man says. I'm on late shift tomorrow, so I can go and come back in time for that. Come on." He exited the room rapidly, and the others followed, exchanging worried looks, but realising that there was nothing they could do to help.

Charlie was just an hour into his shift when he was hailed by a bleary-eyed Rajiv, waving a parchment at him.

"This just came," he told him. "Bloody owl hammered on the window till I opened it. I thought you'd better have it now in case…"

"Thanks Raj." Charlie cast a wary eye at the Chinese Fireball a few yards behind them, but she was quiet, apparently fast asleep. He ripped the note open and read it.

_Charlie –_

_I can't believe we haven't heard from you. Did you even get Dad's note? Bill needs you, Charlie. He's a mess now. If Fleur dies – I don't want to even think about it, but if she does, you're going to be the only person who even has a hope of helping him. Bill needs you a hell of a lot more than your bloody dragons do, so for Merlin's sake get your arse over here __now._

_Percy._

_P.S. I guess the fact Friday's the Full Moon makes things worse. That scar on Bill's arm has reopened again already. I know I'm supposed to pretend I don't know about this, but I have eyes in my head, and I can read a moon calendar as well as the next man. P._

"Damn!" Charlie cast a despairing look at the dragon behind him as he re-read the note.

"Bad news?" Rajiv asked.

Charlie sighed deeply. "Fleur's still alive, but… I have to go home now Raj, and sod the Old Man. I'd better go and talk to him again."

Rajiv shook his head. "Don't bother. He'll only chew you out again. Just go, Charlie. I'll take over from you here."

"Raj… You were up all night. And you're on again tonight. I can't ask you to do that for me."

"For God's sake, you're not asking, I'm offering. Rob and Suresh will be back this afternoon. One of them can take my shift tonight. Don't argue, Charlie. People are more important than dragons, whatever we might like to think sometimes. And you'd do the same for any of us."

Charlie drew a deep breath, peeling off his leather gauntlets and handing them over to his friend. "Thanks mate," he said. "I owe you one."

"Go," Rajiv told him. "I hope your sister-in-law's okay."

Charlie was heading back to the hostel before he finished talking.

**Wednesday Lunchtime – St. Mungo's**

Percy was worried enough about his eldest brother to forego his lunch and go to the hospital in his lunch hour. He knew that his mother – and probably Fleur's parents too by now – were already there, but he had a feeling that extra moral support for Bill would be welcome.

When he arrived, he found Bill sitting in a chair outside Fleur's room, his head in his hands. Through the window in the door, he could see several Healers clustered around Fleur's bed, while his mother and Monsieur and Madame Delacour were standing in the corner of the room, all looking shocked and upset.

"Bill?" he asked, sitting down beside his brother and putting an arm round his shoulders. "What's happened?" He could feel Bill shaking, but he made no sound as he turned and hid his face in Percy's chest. Percy hugged him, rubbing his back gently. "Hey, easy, easy," he soothed. "What's happened, Bill? What's happened?"

He could feel Bill shaking even more as he struggled to speak. "They-they gave her the potion," he managed to gasp out at last, his voice hoarse. "She-she had some sort-some sort of fit. Her heart stopped. They're trying to restart it. I couldn't stay and watch. I couldn't stand it. I've lost her, Perce, I've lost her…" He began to cry then, sobs wracking his whole body as he clung to his brother. Percy felt his own eyes stinging as he held Bill tightly. He said nothing. What was there he could say?

* * *

_A/N Quick enough update for you Steph? I hope it's sufficient to stop you nagging me!_

_To Everyone - I know this isn't the resolution I promised you, and I know you all hate me now. But such is life..._

_In case you're wondering about Rajiv's language, he's Muggleborn and comes from Birmingham in the English Midlands, not from India!_

_Please read and review if you can forgive me for yet another cliffie._


	66. Wednesday Afternoon

_Well, I hope you've forgiven me for the ending of the last chapter. Mustardgirl, I do have to say I have never laughed so much at a review before!_

_One more after this to resolve the issues here, and then we're onto the twins' birthday._

_Listen to the voices in your head telling you to press the little button and leave a review! It's nice when people put a story on alerts or favourites, but if you review as well, it's a definite bonus!_

**Wednesday afternoon**

**Wednesday afternoon – St. Mungo's**

Gradually, Bill's sobs quietened, but he continued to cling to his brother, and Percy could feel that he was still shaking. Peering over Bill's head through the window into Fleur's room, he could see the Healers clustered around her bed. Clearly they hadn't given up on her yet. Involuntarily, Percy's arms tightened around his brother. Bill did not deserve this. He had been through enough already with his injuries from Greyback; and the torment he endured every Full Moon (Percy might not know the details, but he knew enough to know that it was bad); and the stares and prejudice he faced because of his scars, that his brothers had never known about until the previous week. Not to mention losing Fred, and nearly losing Charlie, and being the person who coped and pulled the family through when everyone else was falling apart. This just wasn't fair.

Percy had been lost in his thoughts and Bill in his misery, so neither of them noticed the rapid footsteps approaching along the corridor. Then Charlie was crouching in front of them, a hand on Bill's back and his face stricken.

"Bill? Merlin, Fleur's not…?"

Percy felt Bill stiffen as Charlie spoke, and found he had to swallow hard before he could answer. "They gave her the potion, and her heart stopped. They're trying to revive her now."

Charlie groaned and put his arm round Bill's shoulders.

"Charlie?" Bill whispered.

"Yeah mate, I'm here. Sorry it took me a while," Charlie replied quietly. He exchanged a look with Percy, who freed himself from Bill's grip and stood up.

"Look after him," he told Charlie. "I'm going to see what's happening." Charlie took Percy's seat and pulled Bill into a hug, as Percy went into Fleur's room.

Fleur's parents and Molly were still standing near the door. Monsieur Delacour had his arm around his wife, and there were tears on her face and on Molly's.

Percy put a hand on his mother's arm. "Mum?" he asked quietly. "What's happening?"

She turned dazedly to him and replied, "Percy? When did you get here? They-they're still trying to restart her heart. What about Bill? Is he still out there? Is he okay?"

"He's there," Percy confirmed. "He's not okay, but Charlie just arrived and he's with him."

"Charlie here? Oh, thank Merlin for that!" Molly exclaimed. "Bill's going to need him badly, I'm afraid." Percy said nothing, but gripped his mother's hand as they watched the Healers continue to work on Fleur.

Suddenly, there was a flurry of activity amongst them, and one of the magical devices monitoring Fleur's condition began to whirr. Healer Drummond was giving rapid instructions to the other Healers, and gradually the device's whirring steadied into a regular "beep…beep…beep". The four people watching looked up, hardly daring to hope. Then – amazingly, wonderfully – they heard Fleur's voice, weak and thin, murmuring something in French.

Healer Drummond turned quickly to the watchers by the door. "One of you come and talk to her," she commanded. "We can't afford to lose her again now."

Monsieur and Madame Delacour moved forward quickly and Percy could hear Fleur's mother murmuring to her in French.

Then he heard Fleur's voice again, weak but insistent. "Bill? Ou es tu? Maman, je veux Bill."

Percy shook himself, and freed his hand from his mother's. "I'll fetch him."

He went into the corridor, where Bill was still clinging to Charlie, and put his hand gently on his eldest brother's arm. "Bill? It's okay. They got her heart going. She's awake and talking. She's asking for you."

"What?" Bill turned dazed eyes on his brother. "Merlin, I thought, I thought…" He sobbed and scrubbed his eyes with his hands, then stood up, swaying slightly. The door to Fleur's room opened and Healer Drummond emerged. She smiled when she saw Bill on his feet.

"Are you alright?" she asked gently. "Listen, Bill, Fleur's conscious but she's not out of the woods yet. We can't afford for her to get upset, so if you get upset, I'm going to throw you out, okay?"

Bill nodded and swallowed hard. "Okay. I'm alright, really. I won't upset her."

"Good." She squeezed his arm gently and smiled again before preceding him into the room.

Once through the door, Bill was across the room in three strides and perching on the bed beside Fleur, stroking her hair and bending to kiss her gently. She murmured his name and turned towards him, her hand finding his and holding it tightly.

"Ne me laisse pas," she whispered, and he smiled as he bent to kiss her again.

"I'm not going anywhere," he assured her. She curled herself into the curve of his arm, still holding tightly to his other hand. Within a few minutes, it was obvious she was asleep, but this was natural sleep, not the deep coma she had been in before.

Healer Drummond was waving her wand over Fleur's abdomen and frowning. "Would you check this for me?" she asked one of her colleagues, who came over and did the same thing.

Once he had finished, the Mediwizard turned to her and nodded. "The baby's alive," he said, in a tone that betrayed his astonishment.

"That's what I thought," said Healer Drummond, smiling at Bill. "She's clearly as tough as her mother."

Bill felt that, however miraculous the baby's survival was, he really couldn't care much about it at the moment, as long as Fleur was okay. He shifted slightly to make himself more comfortable, but without disturbing Fleur's grip on his hand. Having got his wife back, there was no way he was leaving her now.

**Wednesday afternoon – Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes**

Molly and Percy left Charlie at the hospital with Bill, while they went to pass on the good news of Fleur's recovery to the rest of the family. They Apparated to Diagon Alley, and Ron, George and Angelina all looked up eagerly as they entered the shop.

"Any news?" asked Ron, somewhat breathlessly.

Molly smiled. "She's come round. She's still very ill, but the Healers think there's a good chance she'll recover now. And the baby's okay too. It was touch and go, though. Fleur's heart stopped when they gave her the potion and they had to revive her."

George gave a strangled sound that was halfway to a sob, and dropped the box of trick wands he was holding. Percy went to help him pick them up.

"You okay?" he muttered under his breath.

George managed a watery smile. "Yeah. I just… Oh Godric, Perce, if she'd died…"

"It wasn't your fault, George," Percy said firmly. "Even Bill will see that when he has time to think of anything other than Fleur."

George shook his head and looked unconvinced. "Is Bill okay?" he asked as he straightened up.

"Not really. But Charlie's there with him."

George glanced over to where his mother was talking to Ron and Angelina. "Friday's…" he hesitated, looking at Percy questioningly.

"Full Moon, yeah," Percy said, keeping his voice low, as George had done. "How long have you known?"

"Couple of months," George said. "I think Ron's still clueless though. Not sure about Ginny… Did Bill tell you?"

"No. Worked it out. Like you did, I guess. I told Charlie I knew, but I don't think now is the time to tell Bill we do, do you?"

"Hardly," said George grimacing slightly. "He'll hate us knowing. Ruins his big brother coping with everything image."

"Good thing too, if you ask me," said his brother. "He needs to let other people look after him sometimes for a change."

"Yeah, maybe," George said, smiling. "Even if it does dent his pride a little. And we owe it to him."

"Yeah," agreed Percy. "We do. Look mate, I have to get back to work and tell Dad about Fleur. Mum's going to owl Ginny and the others, I think. Are you coming to The Burrow this evening?"

"Yeah, I guess. See you later, Perce."

After Percy and Molly had left, George, Ron and Angelina tried to get back to work, even though all of them were finding it hard to concentrate. George left the others in the shop while he went down to the cellar to package a fireworks order that needed to be sent off the next day. Five minutes after he went downstairs, the shop door opened, and Katie entered.

"Hi Katie," Ron said, sounding surprised. "George is downstairs if you want him."

"I don't." Katie's voice was uncharacteristically hard. "I was waiting outside till he disappeared. I just wanted to see if there was any news of Fleur."

Ron opened his eyes wide at this, but decided not to comment. "Mum and Percy just came in. She's come round. They think she's going to be okay."

Katie smiled. "I'm glad. People at the bank keep asking me, and I wanted to know too." She sighed. "Do me a favour Ron, and don't tell George I was here."

But it was too late, George had just come upstairs, his arms full of packages. He stopped short at the sight of Katie, but seemed to have no idea at all of what to say to her.

Pointedly ignoring him, Katie turned to go. "Bye Ron," she said. "I'm glad Fleur's better."

Then she left, without a backward glance at George, and before he had time to think of anything to say to make her stay.


	67. The Rest of Wednesday

You know how I said just one more chapter before the twins' birthday? I lied. Again. Sorry.

One more after this, and then...

Thanks to Defier of Reason for help with the French.

Sorry this has been a while in coming. I keep getting distracted and writing other things. If you're interested, you might like to know that the next chapter of Weasley Weddings is (finally) in progress.

Please read and review...

**The Rest of Wednesday**

**Wednesday Afternoon – Diagon Alley**

"Go after her, idiot!" Ron snapped, as George stood immobile, staring at the place where Katie had been standing. George shook himself, dumped his armful of parcels on the counter and followed Katie out of the door and down Diagon Alley. He caught up with her on the steps of Gringotts. Seeing that she could not outpace him, she turned reluctantly to face him, anger in her eyes.

"I don't have anything to say to you, George," she spat out.

"Katie, please… I'm sorry."

She laughed bitterly. "Oh, that's okay then," she said. "I can't do this any more, George. I can't keep making allowances for you and letting you walk all over me because-because of Fred. I-I wanted to help, but you're so wrapped up in your own little world at the moment that you won't let me close enough. You said it, George – it's over. Just leave me alone, and get on with wallowing without me."

"Katie… It's not like that. Please…" George pleaded.

She shook her head. "No, George. I can't do this any more," she repeated. "I'm sorry. Just leave me alone."

She turned and hurried up the steps to the bank, leaving him standing looking after her.

**Wednesday Evening – St. Mungo's**

Bill was still sitting on Fleur's bed, cradling her gently as she slept. Her parents had gone to get something to eat, but Charlie remained, leaning against the wall by the window and looking worriedly at his brother.

"You look shattered," he remarked conversationally. "You need a break, Bill."

Bill shook his head, and shifted slightly to ease his position, wincing slightly as he moved his injured arm. "I'm okay. I'm not leaving her," he said obstinately.

Charlie came forward and stood behind his brother, rubbing his shoulders. "How is it going to help Fleur if you're ill?" he asked quietly. "When did you last get some decent sleep? When did you last eat something?" He paused. "You really need a break before Friday night, you know you do. If you're exhausted before the moon hits, it'll be worse than ever."

Bill shuddered involuntarily. "I know," he conceded. "But… I thought I'd lost her, Char. I can't leave her. I just can't."

"I think you have to, mate." Charlie's voice was sympathetic but firm. "You need a rest and something to eat or you're going to end up collapsing. Let Fleur's parents stay with her tonight, and come back to The Burrow. Please, Bill."

But Bill was adamant. "I'm not leaving her. I can't, Charlie."

Charlie sighed at his brother's stubbornness, but gave up the argument, at least for the time being. Monsieur and Madame Delacour returned a few minutes later, and there was silence in the room for the next hour or so. Soon after eleven o'clock, Fleur stirred and muttered something. Bill felt her grip on his hand tighten as she began to wake.

"Bill?" she whispered.

"I'm here, love. It's okay." He stroked her hair gently back from her face and smiled at her, but he received no answering smile. There was a look of definite panic on her face.

"Je ne vois rien," she gasped. "Bill, je ne te vois pas. Je ne vois rien."

"Hey, it's okay it's okay." Bill's arms tightened around Fleur, as she pulled herself into a sitting position. He was hoping that he had misunderstood what she had said, but when he met his father-in-law's eyes, he knew that he had not.

"She says zat she cannot see," Monsieur Delacour said in a shocked voice.

Fleur was sobbing, clinging to Bill. "Pourquoi est-ce que je n'arrive à rien voire? Why cannot I see?" she gasped out between sobs. "J'ai peur, Bill. J'ai tellement peur."

Bill held her closely, murmuring to her reassuringly, trying not to let his own fear show in his voice. Her mother was behind her, whispering something in French, and stroking her hair. Charlie had left the room, saying something about finding one of the Healers. He was back in a short time, Healer Drummond with him. She performed a quick examination and frowned slightly.

"Fleur, listen to me." She spoke kindly, but commandingly enough that Fleur stopped sobbing, although she still clung to Bill. "I know this is frightening for you, but I have every hope that this blindness is only temporary. I'm going to consult my colleagues in Sofia, who know more about this than we do here, and see if they can help us. In the meantime, I'm going to give you a potion to make you sleep tonight. You need that for your recovery, and to keep the baby safe."

"Ees-ees she okay?" Fleur asked shakily.

The Healer smiled. "So far she's doing fine. You have a strong little girl in there, Fleur. I'll be back with the sleep draught in a moment."

She left the room, but was back very soon with a glass of potion, which Fleur drank obediently. She was asleep within seconds.

Healer Drummond fixed Bill with a stern eye. "You," she told him, "are going home to bed."

Bill shook his head, and began to protest, but she cut him short. "Fleur won't wake before the morning, and she'll need you then, particularly if she still can't see. I have no idea how permanent this blindness will be until I've consulted the Bulgarian Healers who specialise in this condition. Fleur will need you tomorrow, and you won't be able to help her if you're ill yourself." She turned to Charlie. "Take him home please, and make sure he gets some sleep and a decent meal." Charlie nodded his assent, and the Healer put a gentle hand on Bill's arm. "I promise I'll make sure you're contacted if we have any cause at all to worry, but I don't think that's likely."

Bill nodded, albeit reluctantly, and let Charlie lead him from the room, after bidding his parents-in-law goodbye and kissing his sleeping wife. He was exhausted enough that even side-along Apparition was too much for him, and he collapsed as Charlie Apparated the pair of them into the yard behind The Burrow. He was barely aware of Charlie and his father helping him to bed, and of eating a bowl of his mother's tomato and basil soup before he fell asleep.


	68. Thursday

I'm sorry this has been so long in coming - and despite what I said before, this is **not** the last chapter of this section. (This week in the story has been going on for ages - must be some weird magic-related time stretching thing!)

MBP gets the credit for nagging me into getting on with this.

**Thursday**

At breakfast the next morning, Charlie was acutely aware that Bill was avoiding looking at George, and that George was casting looks in his eldest brother's direction that could only be described as hopeful. Charlie knew what was going on – that Bill continued to blame George for Fleur's collapse and illness – and he was also pretty sure that he knew just why Bill was clinging to the belief that George was responsible. He also knew that the situation could not be allowed to continue for much longer. George's emotional state was precarious, to say the least, and Bill's current attitude towards him could only make things worse. As far as he could see, Charlie had no choice but to tackle Bill about the matter as soon as he could. But he needed to get Bill on his own in order to do that, and although their father, Percy, George and Ron all left for work before long, their mother remained in the kitchen. She was the last person Bill would discuss this in front of, so it would have to wait.

They were halfway through their second mugs of tea, when a large eagle owl, that Charlie recognised as belonging to the dragon reserve, appeared at the kitchen window. He went over and took the letter it carried, fetching some owl treats from the pantry, which the owl ate hungrily before departing. Charlie cast a surreptitious glance at his mother and brother, but they were talking and took no notice of him. Charlie was glad. He had no wish for his family (particularly Bill) to know that his job might be on the line because of his abrupt departure the previous day. He took a deep breath, and opened the letter.

_Dear Charlie, _

_You are a lucky sod, and you owe us all (especially Rajiv and Rob) big-time. Raj and Rob managed to cover your shift so effectively yesterday that the O.M. didn't even realise you'd gone till this morning. And then he was in such a good mood because three clutches of Fireball eggs hatched overnight without incident (one with __thirteen__ babies – and you missed it!) that he just muttered something about maybe being a bit harsh yesterday when he spoke to you. He also said that you'd better be back by Monday, and that you'd not get a day off for the next three weeks, but you can't have everything._

_Let us know how your sister-in-law is. Louis is worrying. Whatever he may say about them having been "just friends" for years, I think he is still more than a little in love with her._

_Idris_

_P.S. Eleri is not impressed that you stood her up last night. You have some serious grovelling to do, my friend. I._

Charlie grinned as he finished his friend's letter. He could not help but admit to himself that he was relieved. He had had no qualms about leaving the previous day – as Rajiv had said, people were more important than dragons – but he had been worried about how his boss would react. He found parchment and quill, and scribbled a reply to Idris – including a suitably abject apology for him to pass on to his sister – and went upstairs to borrow Percy's Hermes to take the note. (There was no way Erroll would make it all the way to Romania. He was so old and decrepit now that it was pushing it to expect him to make it to Hogwarts or to Diagon Alley. And he had been known to forget where he was supposed to be headed, and to turn around halfway and come home with the message undelivered.)

Charlie spent most of the day at the hospital with Bill, who was grateful for his support, but had no opportunity to talk to him about George. Most of Bill's attention was naturally taken up with Fleur, who was restless and anxious and barely lucid at times. Her sight had not returned. Healer Drummond was reassuring, and said that Fleur was reacting to the Graveela potion as the Bulgarian Mediwizards would have expected. The blindness was apparently a known – if rare – complication of her condition, and in every case known to the Healers in Sofia had proved to be temporary – although in the documented cases its duration had ranged from two or three days to several months.

Fleur was alternating between a kind of restless almost comatose state and intervals of consciousness when she was frightened and in pain and clung to Bill as if to a lifeline. Her parents had gone back to their room at the Leaky Cauldron to rest once Bill and Charlie arrived at the hospital, having been at the hospital all night. They returned in the afternoon, and Charlie persuaded a reluctant Bill to leave Fleur with them for long enough for him to get some fresh air and something to eat.

But his brother looked so worried and exhausted that Charlie did not have the heart to bring up the issue of George with him then. Perhaps George had been right during the brief conversation Charlie had had with him the previous night after bringing Bill home. "Bill's got enough on his plate, Charlie," George had insisted. "I can cope with him blaming me if I have to, but I'm not sure _he_ can cope with arguing about it right now. He's too worried about Fleur. Leave it for now. Time enough for us to sort it out once Fleur's properly better." He had hesitated then and looked straight at Charlie. "At least wait until after the Full Moon on Friday," he had added. Charlie had decided not to comment on that. It was apparent that most of the family now had at least some inkling of how hard Full Moons were for Bill, but it was not up to him to go into the details with George. And there was no need for Bill to find out that Percy and George knew until after this Full Moon was past.

Bill would not stay away from Fleur for long, and he and Charlie soon returned to the hospital. Once again, Bill only agreed to go home for the night because of Healer Drummond's absolute insistence. Fleur was to be heavily sedated again overnight, and he had to concede that he could be more help to her during the following day if he was not worn out himself. Added to that, his scars were already beginning to hurt badly, and he knew that the Full Moon the next night would be worse than ever if he was exhausted before it started.

It was late by the time Bill and Charlie got back to The Burrow, but Charlie decided that if he was ever going to tackle Bill about George, this was the time to do it. George had a point about maybe leaving it until Fleur was better, or until after Friday night, but Charlie was not one to put things off if he could help it. And, whatever he might say about it, George was having a hard enough time at the moment, and Bill's attitude wasn't helping.

Charlie and Bill were alone in the living room drinking coffee after supper. Their parents had gone to bed, and Percy was out with Penny. George and Ron had stayed at the flat tonight. Bill caught Charlie looking at him with a thoughtful, slightly wary expression, and raised his eyebrows.

"What?" he asked. "What's up, Charlie?"

"You won't like it," his brother warned him, but continued anyway. "George. You have to sort things out with him, Bill."

Bill's expression clouded. "Why? This was his fault, Charlie. Fleur would have been okay if not for him. Am I just supposed to overlook that?"

Charlie shook his head in frustration. It was so unlike Bill to react like this - he was usually the most reasonable of people. Charlie was not at all sure that he knew how to deal with him in this mood. "No one's asking you to overlook anything," he said, trying not to let his frustration show in his voice. "But George never set out to hurt anyone, Bill. You know that. I know he's been behaving like an idiot over the last few weeks, but he didn't do that with the intention of hurting anyone. He just couldn't see past how much he was hurting himself. He would never have hurt Fleur on purpose, you know that."

"If she hadn't gone to the shop on Monday…"

"It might have happened anyway, Bill!" Charlie interrupted impatiently. "And George didn't _ask _her to go. It was her idea."

Bill stood and went over to the window, looking out at the dark garden so that he did not have to look at his brother. He had thought that Charlie of all people would understand the way he was feeling, but it seemed that Charlie, like everyone else, couldn't see past the fact that George had not meant to hurt anyone, and thought that he was being unfair and unreasonable. He bit back the sobs he could feel rising in his throat. If Fleur had not gone to the shop on Monday, she might be okay. The nightmare of the last few days would never have happened. Fleur wouldn't be ill now. She would be able to see. He didn't know why blaming George somehow made all of it easier to cope with, but he couldn't deny that it did.

"I know why you're doing this, you know," Charlie said. There was sympathy in his voice, but Bill heard only the accusation there, and rounded on Charlie angrily.

"You do, do you?" he demanded, his voice rising. "Tell me then, if you're so bloody clever! You don't know, Charlie! You can't possibly know the first thing about how I'm feeling right now."

He looked furious enough to hit his brother, but Charlie managed to keep his own voice low and level. "You're blaming George because it's easier than blaming yourself," he said quietly, and waited for the explosion.

It did not come. Bill regarded him impassively for a moment, and then his face crumpled, and he sank into a chair, burying his head in his hands and crying bitterly. Charlie crossed the room rapidly and perched on the arm of the chair, putting his arm around Bill's shoulders, and holding him tightly.

Eventually, Bill managed to control his crying enough that he could speak. "If-if I hadn't got her pregnant…" he began, but Charlie was having none of it.

"Don't be an idiot, Bill!" he commanded, shaking his brother's shoulders gently. "You raped her, did you?"

"Charlie! Of course I didn't!"

Charlie nearly laughed. "I know you didn't, you git," he said. "And presumably you two having a kid was a joint decision?"

Bill nodded.

"Well then," Charlie continued. "You could say this is just as much Fleur's own fault as yours. You could even say that it's more her fault, since she's the one who's part Veela, and she should have known this might happen."

"But she didn't know."

Charlie pulled Bill to him, rubbing his shoulders. "I know she didn't. Neither did you. So it wasn't your fault, or Fleur's. Or George's." He paused, and looked Bill in the eye. "Bad things happen, Bill. It doesn't always have to be someone's fault."

Bill leant back in his chair and closed his eyes. "You're right," he whispered. "This isn't George's fault. I'm an idiot, and I'm sorry. I'll talk to him tomorrow."

Charlie smiled, and put a hand on his brother's shoulder. "Thanks." He frowned. "You're worn out, Bill. Go to bed."

Bill's lips twitched as he pulled himself to his feet and headed for the door. "You sound like Mum," he said, half-grinning.

Charlie contented himself with making a face at him as he went to the kitchen with their empty coffee cups. Then he followed Bill upstairs to bed.


	69. The End of the Week: I

An update, finally! Which means that you might have to forgive me that there is yet more to come after this before we get onto the twins' birthday. But I've been having such trouble with this chapter that I had to post something now before I gave up on it entirely. Plus this bit is pretty long on its own. I think (hope!) the next will be a lot shorter.

Please leave me a review, because I really feel I've earned them for this one, it's been such a slog!

**The End of the Week I**

**Friday Morning – The Burrow**

Bill woke in the early hours of the morning from a nightmare in which Fenrir Greyback's leering face was mixed up with images of Fleur lying still and silent in a hospital bed. His scars were hurting badly, and he reached instinctively for Fleur, before coming back to reality with a jolt and realising that she was not there and why. Charlie was sleeping in the bed on the other side of the room, but Bill decided against waking him. The pain was bad, and he knew he would not be able to get back to sleep, but what could Charlie do about it? With one eye on his brother, he got gingerly out of bed, pulled an old jumper on over his pyjamas and headed downstairs.

He went into the kitchen, and made himself a cup of tea – not because he particularly wanted one, but at least it gave him something to do to take a small part of his mind away from the pain in his face and arms. His scars frequently hurt in the hours before the Full Moon hit, but this was worse than usual – he thought because of the strain of the last week and how exhausted he still was. He sighed, and sat down at the kitchen table with his tea, closing his eyes and trying not to think of Fleur, alone and blind and scared in St. Mungo's, or of the conversation he knew he would have to have with George the next day. Most of all, he was trying not to think of the coming Full Moon, the prospect of which frightened him even more than it usually did. Without Fleur, and with how ill he was already feeling, he knew it would be a bad one.

He heard footsteps behind him, and turned to see Percy in the doorway, his hair standing on end, his glasses askew, and wearing a deep green jumper nearly as old and tatty as Bill's dark blue one. (Bill wondered for a moment what people whose mothers didn't knit obsessively wore when they got up in the middle of the night.)

"Bill?" Percy asked. "Are you okay?"

Bill tried to smile and say yes, he was fine, he just couldn't sleep, go back to bed, Percy, but found he couldn't. The words stuck in his throat, and he found himself biting his lip to stop himself from crying out as a wave of pain passed through his scars.

Percy saw. "Bill?" He crossed the kitchen rapidly and sat beside Bill, putting a hand on his arm. Bill winced involuntarily as he did so, and couldn't prevent himself from gasping in pain. "Hey…" Percy said gently. "Is it your scars? Have you taken some pain relieving potion?"

Bill shook his head, and was thankful that his voice sounded more or less normal when he managed to speak. "Doesn't help. Makes it worse, if anything. It's always worse before…" He stopped abruptly, realising that, as far as he knew, Percy didn't know about how bad Full Moons were for him.

But Percy put an arm gently round his shoulders, and said, "Before the Full Moon? I know Bill. Maybe not the details, but…"

He felt Bill stiffen. "You know? Charlie said something?"

"No, of course he didn't. D'you think he would? I worked it out – at Christmas when you were ill when George was in hospital. I _can _read a moon calendar, Bill. So can George. He knows too."

Bill stared at his brother wide-eyed for a moment, then laughed ruefully. "Godric, you can't keep any secrets in this family, can you?"

Percy laughed too. "No, but that's not necessarily a bad thing. Why the heck does it have to be a secret anyway?"

Bill shrugged, and put his hand over his eyes. "I don't know. Because I'm too bloody proud for my own good, I guess. It's just – horrible, Perce. I didn't want any of you to know. What about Ron and Ginny? Do they know too?"

"I don't know," Percy replied. "George said he was pretty certain that Ron didn't. No idea about Ginny." He frowned. "Wouldn't surprise me if Hermione had worked it out though."

Bill managed a half smile. "Nor me. She wouldn't say anything to the others though."

"You're right, she wouldn't," Percy agreed. "It's bad, isn't it, Bill?"

Bill nodded reluctantly. "Yeah. It-it's horrible. I'm myself enough to know it's not right, but it's like something else has taken me over. I can't bear anyone to touch me, I can't keep still. Sometimes I can't bear to stay in the house even, I have to get out and just run… And I'm so scared I'm going to hurt someone – hurt Fleur - one day."

Percy's hold tightened round Bill's shoulders. "Bill… you wouldn't. I know you wouldn't."

Bill choked and shook his head. "I might. I'm not in control any more. And it hurts – it hurts like hell…"

"Oh Bill… Can't they do anything? St. Mungo's?"

"I-I don't know," Bill admitted. "I always refused to ask before 'cause I was scared of being disappointed if they said there wasn't anything. But Healer Drummond – who's treating Fleur – said there might be something, and she'd look into it for me. But that's no good for this month." He shuddered. "I'm scared, Perce. Bloody terrified, if you want the truth. I'm not sure I can do this again. Not without Fleur there."

Neither of them had heard the footsteps on the stairs, and both jumped when Charlie crossed the kitchen and sat down on Bill's other side, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Why didn't you wake me, you git?" he asked, and if there was a note of accusation in his voice, there was sympathy too, and that was what undid Bill completely. He shook his head and choked, burying his face in Charlie's red jumper, shaking with sobs as his brothers held him close. It was a long time before he was able to control himself enough to stop crying. When he finally could, he took a long shaky breath, and pulled away from Charlie and Percy, scrubbing his eyes with his hands.

"S-sorry," he muttered. "I-I keep doing that to you two this week."

Charlie pulled him into a hug. "S'okay mate," he said gruffly. "That's what we're here for."

Percy stood up, and went over to the pantry. "What are you doing?" Charlie demanded.

"Making hot chocolate. George told me his secret ingredient."

"What?" Charlie was incredulous. "How did you get that out of him?"

"Blackmail. And don't think I'm going to pass it on to you - he'd probably kill me."

Percy floated three mugs of steaming hot chocolate in front of him and jerked his head towards the living room. "Let's go in there. Comfier chairs."

Bill and Charlie pulled themselves to their feet, Bill wincing as he did so, and followed Percy into the living room, where they sat and drank the hot chocolate in a comfortable silence. Even Bill felt himself begin to relax, and the pain in his scars eased as he did so. Eventually, all three of them fell asleep where they were, Charlie and Bill together on the settee, and Percy in an armchair, and they were still there when their mother came downstairs to make breakfast. She smiled at the sight, although she sighed too when she saw the lines of worry and pain around Bill's mouth and eyes, realising that it was probably his need that had brought the other two downstairs. She glanced at the clock, and decided to leave them to sleep for a bit longer while she started breakfast. No doubt the smell of bacon and eggs would wake them up soon enough.

**Friday – St. Mungo's Hospital**

Fleur was still asleep when Bill arrived at St. Mungo's, and he settled himself in the chair beside her bed. But within a few minutes, she was stirring and murmuring, and he moved to perch beside her on the bed, stroking her hair. When she woke properly, she smiled up at him, although her eyes were unfocused, and it was obvious that she was still unable to see.

"Bill?"

"I'm here, love"

She smiled again and snuggled into him, and he bent and kissed her.

It was a surprisingly good day. Although Fleur was still blind, she was feeling better, and they were able to forget everything that had happened in the last week, to some extent at least, and just enjoy being together. Fleur was much more aware of what was going on now, and Bill was glad that Healer Drummond arrived early in the afternoon, and explained her illness to Fleur, so that he did not have to attempt to do it himself.

Fleur was silent for some time after the Healer had left, but Bill could see that she was worrying about something.

Suddenly she spoke. "Bill, what day ees eet? I deed not realise 'ow long I 'ad been unconscious."

"It's Friday." He didn't elaborate. She knew as well as he did what Friday this week was. He heard her sharp intake of breath, and felt her grip on his hand tighten.

"Bill…" He could hear the concern in her voice, and tightened his hold round her shoulders.

"I'll be fine, love," he said, trying to inject confidence he didn't actually feel into his voice. "You need to worry about getting better, not about me."

"Ees Charlie 'ere?" Fleur asked worriedly. Charlie had been with them for the last Full Moon, as even at that stage Fleur had been feeling to ill to cope alone. At least he would know what to expect tonight.

"He is, so don't worry, Fleur. I'll be okay. Percy'll be there too."

"Percy? 'E knows? 'Oo told 'im?"

"No one. He worked it out. So did George, apparently. I should've known I couldn't keep it a secret."

"Maybe." Fleur was frowning. It was all very well for Bill to tell her not to worry, but how could she not? She _knew _how hard tonight would be for Bill. She knew how hard she would find it not being able to be there with him…

"Fleur, don't worry. It'll be okay. _I'll _be okay. I promise. Your parents will be here again this evening – we'll just have to tell them I'm ill or something. And – and I have to go early enough so I can go to the shop and talk to George."

"To George? Why do you 'ave to talk to George?"

Bill sighed. "I owe him a pretty major apology."

"An apology? Why? What 'ave you done?"

Bill sighed again. "The Healer said being upset might have made you ill. I've been blaming George."

"Bill! Zat is not fair. 'E never meant to 'urt anyone, and it was my idea to go to ze shop on Monday. 'E never asked me to."

"I know that. I'm sorry. I'm an idiot. Charlie made me see that last night." Bill hesitated. "Fleur, what did you say to George? He wouldn't tell me."

"I pointed out 'ow much 'is be'aviour was 'urting everyone else – which I sink 'e knew anyway, but would not admit to 'imself," Fleur said.

"He told me that. There was more though, wasn't there?"

"You weell not be angry wiz me if I tell you?"

Bill shook his head, then remembered that she couldn't see him. "Of course I won't. Just tell me, Fleur."

"I – I told 'im zat eef 'e carried on as 'e 'ad been doing I would not let 'im 'ave anysing to do wiz ze baby when she is born," Fleur said hesitantly, wishing that she could see her husband's face to judge how he was reacting to this. "I said – I told 'im zat you would back me up in zat."

Bill sucked a long breath in and frowned. "Fleur – he's my _brother_…"

"I know, but… Bill, you would not really trust 'im wiz our daughter eef 'e is getting drunk every night, and – and being so un'appy zat 'e cannot be trusted to look after 'imself?"

"No. No, I guess not. I hope it doesn't come to that, though."

"So do I. But I meant eet, Bill. You weell back me up, won't you?"

His hold round her shoulders tightened. "You know I will, love." He sighed. "Poor George. I don't think any of us can really imagine how hard losing Fred is for him."

"No, I don't sink zat we can. 'E 'as to find a way to live wiz eet zo. A way zat does not eenvolve 'urting 'imself and everyone else."

Bill pulled her to him, and kissed her. "You're right," he conceded. "I just hope that he can."

The rest of the afternoon passed more quickly than either of them liked. Bill was aware that he was watching the door for Charlie's arrival, and that the pain in his scars was steadily increasing, together with the familiar feeling of restlessness that he hated but could not control. Fleur, in her turn, was aware of the increasing tension in Bill as the two of them sat together on the bed.

Charlie arrived just before five o'clock, his mother with him. He looked at Bill sympathetically. "We need to go, mate, if you want to speak to George tonight."

"I know." Bill felt Fleur's grip on his hand tighten, but freed himself gently from her and bent to kiss her. "I'll be okay, love," he whispered. "See you tomorrow."

Fleur managed to nod, biting back tears, and Molly came over and took her daughter-in-law's hand. "Get going, you two," she ordered briskly, although both her sons were well aware of the feelings her briskness was covering.

Charlie looked worriedly at Bill as they left the room. He was conscious that it was getting dark already, and that they were cutting things fine if Bill wanted to speak to George today. Although he could not really blame him for wanting to spend as much time as possible with Fleur, or putting off going home as long as he could. He gripped his brother's arm and Apparated the pair of them to Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes.


	70. The End of the Week: II

_Finally, just when you thought I'd died or something. Finally, the George/Bill conversation and a bit more. Sorry it's been so long. One more to tie up loose ends, then Fred and George's birthday (or the build up to it anyway.)_

**Friday evening – Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes**

Angelina was just leaving as Bill and Charlie arrived at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, and she held the door open for them with a smile as she came out. Ron came forward from behind the counter, the words, "We're closed," forming on his lips, but swallowed them once he realised who it was who had entered. "What are you doing here?" he demanded instead. "How's Fleur?"

"Better," Bill replied. "Or better than she was, anyway. She still can't see. Is George here? I need to talk to him."

Ron raised his eyebrows at Bill's somewhat abrupt manner, but mercifully did not comment. "Downstairs in the stockroom," he said, jerking his head towards the back of the shop. "You know the way."

Once Bill had gone, Ron turned to Charlie. "He looks awful," he commented. "Is Fleur really better?"

Charlie nodded. "She is. Bill's just worn out, that's all. Fleur's parents are staying with her this evening to give him a break."

To Charlie's relief, Ron accepted this explanation without comment, and turned to rearrange a shelf behind the counter. "So why're you here?" he asked, then grinned as he realised how that sounded. "Not that I want to seem unwelcoming or anything. But Bill's not going to give George a hard time is he? George can't cope with that at the moment."

"No," Charlie said soberly. "He's going to apologise. He's finally cottoned on that what happened to Fleur wasn't George's fault."

Ron turned to face his brother, a look of relief on his face. "Really? Thanks Merlin for that! It took him long enough, didn't it? George hasn't said much, but I know it's been bothering him – and he's not in any shape to cope with anything more right now."

"I know," Charlie said seriously. "But don't be too hard on Bill, Ron. He's been worried sick this week, and he's got a bit of a blind-spot when it comes to Fleur."

Ron laughed. "Yeah, I'd noticed. If I ever get like that about Hermione, kick me or something, will you?"

Charlie laughed too. "Okay." He paused. "So it's serious, is it? You and Hermione? I mean, if you're putting yourselves on the same level as Bill and Fleur…"

Ron turned back to his shelf, but Charlie could see that back of his neck and his ears reddening, which answered his question much more eloquently than Ron's mumbled, "Uh, I guess so."

"Good on you, little brother…" Charlie sighed, and Ron turned again and looked at him intently, noticing for the first time that Charlie looked nearly as tired as Bill, and that there was an uncharacteristically bleak look in his eyes.

"Charlie?" he asked. "Are _you _okay?"

Charlie shook himself and managed a smile. "Me? Oh, yeah, I'm fine. You don't need to worry about _me_. I'm okay."

Ron frowned, and was about to say something else when they were interrupted by George's panicky voice calling up the stairs for Charlie.

* * *

Bill descended the stairs to the stockroom, fighting a rising sense of claustrophobia, and telling himself sternly that it was ridiculous for someone who had raided tombs in Egypt to feel uneasy about a cellar in London. George emerged from behind some shelving, wiping something (Bill did not want to speculate what) off his hands with a piece of rag, a smear of purple across one cheek.

"Bill!" he exclaimed in surprise. "What're you doing here? How's Fleur?"

"Better," Bill said shortly. "A bit anyway. She's still blind." He paused and took a deep breath. "I came to apologise. I'm sorry, George. It wasn't your fault what happened to her. I should've seen that. I'm sorry."

George's tense expression softened and he shook his head. "It's okay. It was me who upset her after all."

"Yeah, but you didn't mean to. And it might have happened anyway. I'm sorry, George. Really."

George came forward and hugged his brother briefly. "It's okay. Forget it. It doesn't matter now." He hesitated. "Did Fleur tell you what she said to me? About the baby?"

Bill nodded. "She did."

George sighed. "She said – she said you'd back her up…"

The scars on Bill's face sometimes made his expression almost impossible to read. Now was one of those times. "I will," he said slowly. "I don't want to stop you having anything to do with our daughter, George, but I will if I have to. She'll miss out on knowing her Uncle Fred; I don't want her to miss out on knowing you too. But I have to put her welfare first."

George turned away and began randomly rearranging the boxes on the shelf behind him, swallowing hard. Bill watched him sympathetically for a minute, then went forward and put a hand on his shoulder. "George?" he said. "You know I don't want to do it, but ultimately it's up to you. I know how hard all this is for you, but… You have to find a way of dealing with it, George, that doesn't throw your life away. Fred would want you to carry on living."

"You're right." George's voice was barely above a whisper. "He does – would, I mean. I-I would if it was me who'd died and left him on his own." He shivered slightly, and turned to face Bill, his eyes unnaturally bright, but a determined look on his face that made him look startlingly like Ginny. "I'll try, Bill. Really I will."

"Good," Bill said, smiling at his brother. Then suddenly he stiffened and cried out, staggering backwards to lean against the wall, shaking, and breathing hard.

"Bill? What is it?" George said, putting a hand on his brother's arm, which Bill shook off roughly.

"D-don't touch me, George, don't!" he gasped. "G-get – get Charlie. Upstairs…"

Suddenly, George realised what was happening, and yelled up the stairs for Charlie, before turning back to Bill, wondering what on earth he could do to help. Fortunately it was less than a minute before Charlie came thundering down the stairs, Ron behind him, a mixture of concern and confusion on his face.

"Damn!" Charlie swore. "I _knew_ we were cutting things too fine." He went over to where Bill was now crouched against the wall, and crouched down too, facing his brother, but knowing better than to try to touch him. "Bill?" His voice was very gentle now. "It's okay, mate. You're going to be okay. You're going to get through this."

"N-not here," Bill choked. "I can't. Not here."

"Okay, okay. We need to get you home. You're going to have to let one of us Side-Along you."

"No. I-I can't. Please… Oh Godric. Charlie, I can't do this, I just can't."

"You can. You're going to be okay. Really, Bill. But you'll have to let one of us take you. It'll only be a minute. You can cope with that."

Bill groaned, but nodded, and Charlie sighed with relief. George, who had been standing back with Ron, muttering something to him, came forward. "You'd better let me do it, Charlie. I'm better at Apparition than you."

Normally, Charlie would have argued with that assertion – even though he knew it to be true – but not today. He merely stood back so George could get to Bill.

"I'll be back in a few minutes, Ron," George said. "Shell Cottage, right?" he asked Charlie, who nodded again. George gripped Bill's arms, and there was a crack as the two of them Disapparated, and a second one as Charlie followed.

**Friday evening – Shell Cottage**

Percy came out from the back door of the cottage as he heard them Apparate outside. "Thank Merlin! I thought you'd got lost." He took in the situation rapidly, and went over to Bill, who had pulled free of George's hold and was leaning against the wall. Charlie glanced at the two of them, and then turned to George, who was standing back, looking shaken and slightly scared.

"Thanks George," he said quietly. "I'd probably have Splinched both of us."

"S'okay, no problem," George replied. "Are you going to be okay? D'you want me to stay?"

"No. We'll be okay. You'd better go home and say something to Ron before he imagines things being worse than they are…"

"I did say something, but I don't really know much myself. He – I mean, Bill's not…?"

"A werewolf? No, thank Godric, but it's bad enough. Look, you'd better see if you can get hold of Gin – and Harry and Hermione too, I guess, and one of us can explain things to you tomorrow. Since most of the family knows, it'd be better if everyone did, I guess."

George nodded. "That's easy enough. Ron's meeting them in Hogsmeade tonight, and I think they're planning on going back to The Burrow overnight."

Charlie raised his eyebrows. "They're being let out of school?"

"Yeah. Apparently all those of age are being let out on certain weekends. McGonagall seems to think they need a bit more freedom after everything that happened"

Charlie smiled. "Maybe. But I can't help thinking I was born ten years or so too early. We never had perks like that."

George shook his head. "Nah. No fun getting out legally." He sobered abruptly, glancing over to where Percy was talking quietly to Bill. "Listen, Char, I'll be at the flat. If you need anything, let me know, okay?"

"Okay." Charlie looked seriously at George. "You will be okay on your own, won't you? I mean, you won't…"

"Do anything stupid? No. That was last week." George managed a faint smile. "Seriously, Charlie, I'm not going to do anything like that again. I promised Mum, and I meant it – however hard things get. And I have something I need to get done tonight."

He obviously wasn't going to elaborate, and Charlie decided this was not the time to pursue the matter. Bill cried out in pain at that point, and George reached out and squeezed Charlie's arm briefly. "I'm going. Call me if you need anything." There was a loud crack as he Dispparated, and Charlie turned his attention to Bill.


	71. The End of the Week: III

_You know every time I say this chapter will be the last one of this section? Well, it's a lie. It will always be a lie. A random escaped Death Eater has put a spell on this horrible week for the Weasleys to make it go on forever..._

_Lots of angst, but at least it's an update! Next one probably won't be till next week as I'm away over the weekend and computerless._

_Please leave a review._

**Friday evening – Shell Cottage**

Bill was barely aware of where he was beyond the fact that he was out of that damn stockroom. In some ways, he found the claustrophobia the hardest thing of all to cope with on Full Moon nights. It made no sense for someone who used to crawl through the tightest of places to enter tombs and crypts in Egypt to feel so bloody frightened just because of being in an ordinary room or cellar. Not that any of this made much sense. Not when it was a constant battle to keep hold of who he was, not to let the _monster_ he could feel inside him take over, not to give in to it.

He was vaguely conscious that Percy was beside him, talking to him in a low and even voice, although he might have been talking Greek for all the sense that Bill could make of the words right now. Still, it helped a bit, gave him some sort of anchor on reality. He could hear Charlie talking to George a little way away too, then there was a crack as George Disapparated, and he heard himself cry out as a wave of pain passed through him.

The pain was bad – not just the burning in his scars, but a deeper pain throughout his body as it tried to transform, but was unable to. Some months were worse than others, and he could tell already that this was going to be a bad one. He heard himself crying out again, and tried to stifle it, but was unable to. Both Charlie and Percy were beside him now, taking it in turns to talk to him, their presence helping a little. He wished that he could let his brothers touch him, hold him, but he knew that doing so would only add to the already almost unbearable sense of being trapped, of needing to escape.

They were still outside the back door of Shell Cottage, Bill crouching and leaning against the wall, his brothers kneeling beside him. Percy had suggested that they might go inside, but the very thought of being in an enclosed space – even if it was his own home – filled Bill with dread, so they remained where they were. It was a cold, damp night, but Percy had cast warming and umbrella charms around the three of them, so it was not as bad as it might have been. As well as the physical pain, Bill could feel the old familiar sensation of restlessness, and he knew that as soon as the pain subsided a little, he would not be able to stay here, to stay still. But for now, the pain kept him fixed where he was.

For both Charlie and Percy, not being able to touch Bill was the hardest thing about this. To see someone you loved in pain, and not be able to hold onto them was just horrible. When Percy forgot and put a hand gently on Bill's arm, it was shaken off with a gasp that was almost a snarl, so that neither he nor Charlie tried it again. Instead, they knelt beside Bill, trying to reassure him with their presence and their voices, both of them feeling more helpless than they had ever done before in their lives.

Charlie, in particular, was finding the whole experience nearly impossible. He had known what to expect – he had been here the previous month, had seen Bill go through this before – but somehow, this seemed worse. Maybe because he felt that Bill had been through more than enough this week already; maybe because Fleur wasn't here (and the calm matter-of-fact way she had coped on the last occasion even when feeling sick and ill herself filled him with admiration); maybe because Bill's exhaustion meant that he _was_ suffering more this time than last. Or maybe it was something in Charlie himself that was making it so hard to cope with this… Whatever it was, he simply did not understand how Percy was managing to continue to talk to Bill so composedly, not letting a trace of the way he was feeling show to his oldest brother. And Charlie knew that Percy was feeling as bad about his as he was. That was more than obvious from the look in Percy's eyes.

Bill cried out in pain again, and Charlie tried to say something to him, but his voice cracked, and he found tears stinging his eyes. Percy glanced at him sharply, before turning his attention to Bill, murmuring to him reassuringly. Once Bill was quiet again, gasping and leaning against the wall with his eyes closed, Percy turned to Charlie.

"Take a break, Charlie," he said quietly. "Go inside and get a drink or something."

"No, I can't leave you on your own. I'm okay," Charlie objected, shaking his head.

"You're not. You need a break. Go on, Charlie. You're not helping," Percy ordered firmly. "We'll be fine."

Charlie did not recall ever before taking an order from Percy, but on this occasion he gave in. Sighing, he pulled himself to his feet, and went in through the back door to the kitchen to make himself a cup of tea.

**Friday evening – Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes**

George Apparated back to the shop to find Ron pacing up and down, looking worried. He practically leapt on his brother as he came in.

"George! What the hell's going on? What's wrong with Bill?"

George sighed, and perched himself on a stool behind the counter. "Calm down, Ron!" he ordered. "Bill's going to be okay by tomorrow. I did try to explain earlier if you'd been listening. It's just – well – it's Full Moon tonight and…"

"And what?" Ron demanded. "And what? He's not a werewolf – Lupin said…"

George interrupted him before he could get into full flow. "No, he's not. Just shut up, Ron, and listen. From what I gather – and I don't know the details – Bill's ill when it's Full Moon. I really don't know any more than that – I don't think he wanted us to know even that. But Charlie said he'd tell us about it tomorrow. And Ginny and Harry and Hermione too. You'll all be at The Burrow tonight, right?"

"Yeah." Ron sank onto a stool too, looking shaken and horrified. "I-I never thought… Why didn't he tell us?"

George shrugged. "You know Bill. He _wouldn't _tell us something like that if he could help it. Even Mum and Dad and Charlie didn't know till Christmas. And Percy only knows because he guessed. He's there at Shell Cottage too."

Ron shook his head, apparently lost for words. "Why wouldn't he tell us? We could've helped." He looked at George suddenly. "I bet Hermione knows. If Percy guessed, I bet she would too. She worked Lupin out before any of the rest of us did."

George nodded. "Wouldn't surprise me. But listen, Ron – don't say anything to the others tonight. No point in upsetting Ginny before we need to. As I said, Charlie said he'd talk to us all tomorrow."

"O-kay, I won't," Ron agreed. He glanced at his watch and frowned. "I'm late already – Hermione'll tell me off. Are you staying here? Will you be okay on your own? I mean…"

George smiled, somewhat ruefully. "I know what you mean, and I'll be fine. I've got something I need to get done. I won't do anything stupid, I promise."

"Sure?" Ron asked, hating to doubt his brother, but needing to be certain.

"I'm sure. Just… That bottle of Firewhisky in the kitchen – hide it before you go, will you, Ron? Just in case…"

"Okay." Unexpectedly, Ron stepped forward and hugged his brother. "See you tomorrow, George."

"See ya."

Ron went up the stairs to the flat to change, and George waited in the shop until he heard the crack as Ron Disapparated.

Then he sighed, and went up the stairs himself to the kitchen, unearthing a tin of soup and some two day old bread for his supper and going into the living room with it. He still was not used to being in the flat on his own. Once he'd eaten, he found parchment and quill and sat down at the table with them. He had no faith at all that this would work, but he had to try. He dipped the quill in the ink and began to write: _"Dear Katie…"_

**Friday night and early Saturday morning – Shell Cottage**

Charlie was sitting at the kitchen table drinking his tea, when Percy came in to join him, crossing to the counter and pouring himself a cup too.

"Bill?" asked Charlie sharply.

Percy sighed as he joined Charlie at the table. "Gone. Run. I couldn't stop him." He shivered. "Godric, Charlie, this is awful. I had no idea how bad it was."

"I know," Charlie said. "I can't believe it went on so long without any of us knowing. Merlin, I hope he'll be okay."

Percy put a hand on his arm. "He will be, Charlie. He's enough himself to know to be careful. For Fleur's sake if not his own."

"I guess." Charlie didn't sound convinced. He couldn't get the picture of the rocks at the bottom of the cliff where George had nearly taken the pair of them over the previous week out of his head.

Percy stood up, and flicked his wand to heat up the soup that their mother had sent over, pouring helpings for himself and Charlie. Neither of them felt particularly hungry, but at least eating was something to do.

It was hours later, nearly four o'clock in the morning, when Bill finally returned. Charlie and Percy were in the living room, Percy curled up in an armchair dozing, and Charlie slumped on the settee, trying to rest, but unable to get the picture of jagged rocks and foaming sea out of his head. Both of them jerked upright as they heard the back door banging open, and hurried into the kitchen to find Bill leaning against the table, soaked to the skin, his eyes wide and frightened, shaking all over.

"Come through to the other room and get warmed up." Charlie was surprised that he was managing to keep his voice level. Bill looked at Charlie as if he scarcely knew who he was, but pulled himself upright and followed him into the living room, falling down on the rug in front of the fire. Charlie flicked his wand to dry Bill's soaking clothes, and then again to light a fire in the grate, before kneeling down beside his brother, who was shaking and gasping. He couldn't _not _touch him while he was in this state. He slipped an arm gently round Bill's shoulders, and although he felt Bill flinch initially, he didn't shake him off. Percy came in, carrying a mug of hot chocolate, and crouched on Bill's other side.

"Here," he said quietly. "It'll warm you up a bit." Bill took the mug, his hand shaking, and drank slowly, still leaning against Charlie. When he finished, he handed the mug back to Percy and sighed.

"Thanks," he whispered, his voice hoarse. He was shaking less now, and Charlie could feel that the tension in his shoulders had relaxed slightly.

"How're you doing?" he asked quietly, tightening his hold on his brother.

Bill sighed, and closed his eyes. "It – hurts," he muttered. "What's the time? How-how much longer?"

Percy looked at his watch, and put a hand gently on Bill's. "Just after four. A couple more hours, I reckon."

Bill groaned, and stifled a sob. "Oh, Godric, I can't…"

"You can." Percy's voice was quiet, but very firm, and he rubbed his brother's back gently. "You're going to be okay, Bill, I promise."

The three of them sat in silence for what seemed like a very long time, Charlie and Percy holding onto Bill, and Bill trying to cope with the pain and the feelings of restlessness and claustrophobia that were subsiding, but still hard to bear. Eventually, he pulled away from the others, and lay down on the hearthrug. He was asleep within a few minutes. Charlie and Percy exchanged a look of relief, although it was some time before either of them would leave their brother's side. After a while, however, it was obvious that Bill was not going to wake soon, and they resumed their former positions on the settee and chair, both of them falling into a doze until the sun came up.


	72. Matters Resolving

_A/N No more apologies for this eternal week. I'm resigned to it now... I hope you are too!_

_Please leave a review. It's nice to know what you like and what you don't and (in Cassie's immortal words) it's the only payment us fanfic writers get. _

**Saturday morning – Shell Cottage**

Charlie woke with a jerk from a dream which he knew to be unpleasant, but which he could not quite remember. Bill was still asleep on the hearthrug, lines of pain and exhaustion etched on his face. Charlie found Percy in the kitchen, drinking tea. Charlie poured himself a cup, and joined him at the table.

"Bill still asleep?" Percy asked, raising his eyebrows, and Charlie nodded.

"For now, at least." He sighed deeply. "Godric, Perce, I hope that woman at Mungo's can find something to help him. He _can't_ go on like this every month."

"I hope so too," Percy said soberly. "I don't believe there isn't _anything_ that can help. There must be something."

They sat in silence for a few minutes, drinking their tea, each one lost in his own thoughts. Then they both looked up as Bill appeared in the doorway, white-faced and looking as if he was only remaining upright through sheer willpower. He had his left arm clutched tightly to his chest, and the sleeve of his jumper was soaked in blood. Charlie jumped to his feet and put his arm round Bill's shoulders, guiding him over to a seat at the table.

"What are you doing awake?" he demanded, mock sternly. "You look awful."

"Thanks." Bill managed a smile. "I _have _felt better…" Then he gasped sharply, pulling away from Charlie. "Don't touch my arm!"

Percy came to Bill's other side, frowning. "You're going to have to let us have a look at it, Bill. It's still bleeding."

Bill shook his head and closed his eyes, leaning his head on Charlie's shoulder. "Please… It hurts. I thought it was over. It – I – it's not usually this bad afterwards." Charlie and Percy exchanged looks of concern. They could feel Bill trembling, and his skin was cold and clammy. This was more than mere exhaustion – he was clearly far from well.

"It's okay." Percy spoke with a confidence he was far from feeling. "Let me look at your arm. I'll be careful. We need to stop the bleeding, Bill." Bill nodded reluctantly, still leaning against Charlie, who tightened his hold around his shoulders as Percy used his wand to slit open the sleeve of Bill's shirt and the bandage beneath. The reopened scar on Bill's forearm was raw and jagged, oozing a mixture of blood and pus, Bill's arm swollen and red around it. Both Percy and Charlie smothered gasps of horror at the sight. Bill himself was biting his lip hard, his other hand clenched tightly around Charlie's.

"I'm going to fetch Mum," Charlie said abruptly, freeing himself from Bill's hold and going into the living room. A minute later, the others heard him calling through the Floo for their mother.

Percy conjured a dressing to cover the wound, and then slipped his arm around Bill. It'll be okay Bill," he murmured. "Mum'll sort this out. You're going to be okay." He hoped what he was saying was true.

Bill did not answer. He knew that if he opened his mouth to say anything, he would be unable to stop himself crying out in pain, and he had done enough of that last night. He leant against Percy, his eyes closed, fighting the sobs rising in his throat. This wasn't fair. It was supposed to be over – for this month at least. He wanted Fleur desperately, her warmth, he reassuring presence. He was grateful to Charlie and Percy, but without Fleur he still felt as if he were going through this on his own – and he wasn't sure that he could any more.

The kitchen door opened, and Charlie came in, followed by Molly and Arthur. Bill's slender hold on his self-control snapped at the sight of his mother. Percy yielded his place beside Bill to her, and she wrapped her arms around him as he began to cry.

Nobody noticed Charlie rapidly exiting through the back door, or heard the crack as he Disapparated from the garden.

* * *

Arthur came downstairs after helping Bill to bed, to find Molly alone in the living room.

She looked up as her husband came in. "Is he asleep?"

Arthur nodded. "Fast asleep." He sat down beside Molly on the settee and put his arm around her. "He'll be okay, Mollywobbles."

"I hope so. I really don't like the way his arm looks. If it's still as bad when he wakes up, I'm taking him to Mungo's whether he likes it or not." Molly rested her head on Arthur's shoulder. "Do you remember when he was six and broke his leg falling out of the tree in the orchard? He kept asking me to make it stop hurting. Oh, Arthur – however old they get – he's still my little boy, my first baby…"

"I know, love," Arthur murmured, kissing her forehead. "But he'll be okay." He looked round. "Where are Charlie and Percy?"

""Ch-Charlie's done a disappearing act. You know how he does. Percy said he was pretty upset by last night. Percy's gone to The Burrow to talk to the others. They were worried about Bill, and wanting to know what was wrong."

Arthur grimaced. "So he's not going to get to keep it secret any more."

Molly shook her head. "No. I wish he hadn't thought he had to for so long. If that Healer can really find something to help, it won't matter anyway."

"No, I guess not. Look, Molly, you'd better go to the hospital and check on Fleur and let her know that Bill won't be in till later. I'll stay here with Bill."

Molly nodded, and pulled herself to her feet, heading for the fireplace. "See you later." She smiled at him, and disappeared in the green flames of the Floo.

**Saturday morning – The Burrow**

George, Ron, Ginny and Harry were all looking at Percy with varying expressions of astonishment and horror on their faces. Only Hermione did not look surprised. They were sitting round the kitchen table at The Burrow, mugs of tea forgotten and cooling in front of them. It was the second time that Percy had been at The Burrow that morning. On the first occasion, going to fetch the ointments and potions his mother wanted for Bill, he had been accosted by the younger ones, demanding to know what was going on and whether Bill was okay. He had only got away with a promise that either he or Charlie (and he suspected it would be him since Charlie was nowhere to be found) would come back and talk to them as soon as possible. "What about the shop?" he had asked, hoping that that would buy him a bit of time, but George had merely shrugged. "I'll Floo Angelina and see if she and Lee can open up," he said. "If not, we'll just open late."

So now they were all sitting in appalled silence, looking at Percy and trying to digest what he had just told them of the previous night, and of what Bill had gone through since his mauling by Greyback nearly two years previously.

"But – but why didn't he tell us?" Ginny's voice was uncharacteristically shaky, and Harry reached out a hand to squeeze hers.

Percy shrugged. "You know Bill. When would he ever admit to weakness to us if he could help it? He thinks he has to play the big brother and look after us all the time still." The others all nodded. They had to admit that Bill's insistence on "playing the big brother", as Percy put it, was comforting, even if it could be irritating on occasion.

Ron was furrowing his brow, obviously trying to work something out. "But – last year – we were at Shell Cottage for over a month. Bill was okay then."

Hermione shook her head, reaching out for Ron's hand. "He wasn't," she said quietly. "Don't you remember? There was one night Fleur said Bill was ill, and he stayed in their room. She must have put a _'Silencio' _on it. It was Full Moon then."

"So you've known since then?" Ron demanded. "You worked it out then?"

Hermione shook her head. "I didn't _know_, I only suspected. Luna said something, and I wondered…"

"Luna?" Harry and Ron asked together.

"Yes," Hermione said quietly. "We were going to bed and she looked out of the window and said, 'It's Full Moon. No wonder Bill's not well.' I didn't think anything of it at first. I thought it was one of those things that Luna comes out with. But then when I thought about it, I wondered if it was one of the times when what she says actually makes sense."

"But you didn't say anything to me," Ron said, his tone accusatory. "Hermione, he's my _brother_!"

"How could I?" Hermione asked, her voice rising. "I wasn't sure I was right, and even if I was it was pretty obvious Bill and Fleur didn't want us to know. How could I say something?"

"Mm, I guess not," Ron muttered, somewhat mollified, but still scowling.

"I've only been sure since Christmas," Hermione continued. "When Bill came back from Romania, and George was in St. Mungo's. Bill was ill then too."

Percy nodded. "That's when I realised. And he told Mum and Dad and Charlie then – though I think Mum had already guessed part of it."

There was another silence. No one seemed quite sure what to say. Finally, Harry spoke up: "Surely there must be something that can help. I mean – I know it's not the same thing, but Lupin took the Wolfsbane potion."

"The Healer at Mungo's who's looking after Fleur thinks there might be something," Percy said. "She's looking into it for him." He shivered slightly. "I hope to Godric there is. Last night was just awful."

"Does Bill know you're telling us?" George asked, speaking up for the first time.

"Yeah," Percy said. "He said it was okay. I think he realises that he can't keep it a secret any more, even if he'd like to. I don't think he's going to want to talk about it though. You know what he's like." They all nodded. They knew.

"He – he is going to be okay, isn't he?" Ginny asked in a small voice. "His arm…?"

Percy shook his head. "I don't know, Gin. Mum was pretty worried. She said she's making him go to Mungo's if it's still as bad when he wakes up."

Ginny grimaced. "So he's still at Shell Cottage now?"

Percy nodded. "Dad's there with him, and Mum's gone to the hospital to see Fleur. Charlie's done one of his disappearing acts. You know how he does." The other Weasleys nodded, but Hermione and Harry looked confused.

Seeing the looks on their faces, George explained. "Charlie tends to disappear on his own when he's really upset about something. Like – like he did the day after Fr-Fred's funeral, if you remember." He swallowed. "He's always done it, and no one's ever been able to talk him out of it." He managed a faint grin. "Apparently the first time he was only four, and Mum and Dad were going frantic till they discovered him in the chicken coop two hours later." He sighed. "He'll turn up again when he's ready."

"I hope you're right," Percy said soberly. "He was pretty upset." He yawned hugely.

"He'll be okay, Perce," George reassured him, clapping him on the shoulder. "You look like you should be in bed. Did you get _any_ sleep last night?"

"Not a lot," Percy conceded. "You're right. I need some sleep. What are you lot doing? Going to the shop?"

"We should, before Angelina rebels," George said, looking at his watch. "It's supposed to be her day off. C'mon Ron."

Ron groaned, and got to his feet. "Slave driver!" he muttered. "What about you three?" he asked, looking at Harry, Hermione and Ginny.

"Shopping and cooking," Hermione informed him briskly. "I assume you'll all want to eat tonight, and it'll give your Mum a break. We'll come over later."

The others nodded, and they split up, Percy heading for the stairs, George and Ron going outside to Disapparate to the shop, and the other three remaining in the kitchen. Ron Disapparated before his brother, and as George was about to follow him, a large tawny owl appeared, dropping a package at his feet, and departing with a look that was definitely condescending. Bending to pick it up, George saw that it was the note he had written to Katie the night before, unopened, with an untidy scrawl on the outside: _"I'm not reading this. I can't cope with giving you any more chances. Sorry. Katie."_ Sighing, George pocketed the letter, and followed Ron.


	73. Resolution: I

_Sorry it's been a while. Charlie is next, and is mostly written (though not typed up yet) so I hope that will be up in the next few days._

_Please leave a review._

**Resolution (of a sort)**

Lee and Angelina were obviously pleased when George and Ron arrived at the shop. They had had other plans for their Saturday.

"What time d'you call this?" asked Lee with a grin, but then sobered abruptly as he saw the serious looks on the two brothers' faces. "Hey, are you two okay? Do you need us to stay? We can, if you do." He looked at Angelina for confirmation, and she nodded, but George shook his head.

"We're fine," he said. "Family stuff, but it's sorted now, more or less. You two get off. I owe you one."

"Sure you do," said Angelina with a smile, shedding her shop robes and coming over and kissing George on the cheek. "We won't forget. How's Fleur?"

"Better, I think," George replied. "But she still can't see unless that's changed since yesterday."

Angelina shuddered. "Ugh. That must be scary. Ask Bill to give her my love, will you?"

"Yeah, I will," said George. "Have a good weekend you two. And thanks."

Lee and Angelina departed, leaving George and Ron to deal with a shop full of customers while more than half their minds were elsewhere. George, in particular, found it very hard to keep his mind on what he was supposed to be doing. As well as worrying about Bill, he was going over and over in his mind what on earth he could do to get Katie to talk to him again. He was well aware that her current attitude was his own fault, that even before he had sent her away so abruptly the previous Sunday, his behaviour had been verging on the intolerable at times. He could not blame her for taking him at his word and leaving him to stew, but he could not bear to think of not having Katie at least as a friend any more. Of course, he wanted more than friendship from her, and until a week or so ago he was pretty sure she'd felt the same way about him, but if friendship was all he could have, he'd settle for that as better than nothing. For the time being, at least. But if she wouldn't stay in the same room as him, or even read his letters, there was no way even that was going to happen.

Several customers that day seemed to be conspiring to make his life as difficult as possible. George dealt calmly enough with the usual pilferers, and with the father of one boy who seemed to think that George removing the stolen sweets and trick wand from his son's hands and pockets as he left the shop was some kind of abuse. He even managed not to lose his temper with the customer who complained that the fireworks he had bought the previous week had refused to light on a pouring wet day. (When George distinctly remembered him refusing to pay the extra Galleon for the waterproofing charm, as he said it was a waste of money.) But the man who came in the late afternoon to object that the Muggle-style marked playing cards he had bought the day before were not magic (that being the point of them) tried his patience to the limit. When the man demanded to see the manager, and refused to believe that George was both owner and manager of the shop because of how young he was, George was hard-put to top himself from blowing his top. However, he managed to stay calm and polite, and the man finally left, muttering under his breath, and without the refund he had demanded.

The combination of this encounter, the previous run-ins with customers and the whole situation with Katie was suddenly too much for George, who found himself shaking like a leaf and totally incapable of dealing with anyone or anything else for the moment. He muttered something incomprehensible to Ron, who shot him a startled and worried glance, and bolted for the stairs.

Ron was profoundly grateful when Harry and Ginny turned up twenty minutes or so later. They looked askance at the crowded shop and at Ron's harassed expression, and Ginny demanded to know where George was.

"Upstairs," Ron told her shortly, between ringing up purchases on the till. "Some stupid customer upset him. Ginny, could you…?"

Harry slipped behind the counter to help Ron as Ginny headed for the stairs. She found George slumped on the floor of the living room leaning against the settee with his head buried in his hands. There was an unopened bottle of Firewhisky, and a glass – which looked clean – on the floor beside him. He did not look up as his sister entered. She picked up the bottle and glass, and deposited them both in the kitchen before joining George on the living room floor.

"Tell me you weren't going to drink any of that," she said conversationally.

George groaned. "I thought about it. But – but I promised Fleur I wouldn't. Or that I'd try not to, at least."

"Fleur? When?" Ginny asked, surprised.

"Monday. When she came to the shop. Before she – she… She said I couldn't have anything to do with the baby if I carried on like I was." George's voice cracked, and Ginny reached out and squeezed his hand.

"Good for Fleur," she said quietly. "I'm glad _someone _found a way of getting through to you. You needed it, George."

"I know," George admitted. "But – it's so _hard_, Gin."

"I know." Ginny shuffled over and put her head on his shoulder. "Ron said a customer upset you?"

"I shouldn't have let him get to me," George said. "But – he wanted to see the manager and refused to believe it was me. Fred – Fred would've laughed in his face." He shook his head, swallowing hard. "I couldn't."

"George…" Ginny pulled him into a hug. "Don't be a git. You're _you_. No one expects you to be Fred as well. We miss him, but we don't want you to _be_ him. You're different people."

"I guess." George sounded unconvinced. "We got so used to people thinking we were interchangeable though that we kinda went along with it. Now I just feel like half a person." His voice broke, and Ginny pulled back and scrutinised his face closely.

"There's something else, isn't there?" she demanded. "More than just a stupid customer, or even Bill. What else, George?"

"Katie," he whispered, pulling away from Ginny and hiding his face in his hands.

"Katie?" Ginny asked indignantly. "She didn't dump you?" There was a note in her voice that George knew would have boded ill for Katie if that had been the case, and something inside him warmed at his sister's loyalty and partisanship. He almost smiled, and raised his face from his hands to look at her.

"No, she didn't." He sighed. "I – I dumped her. Last week, after – after…" He stopped and swallowed. "Now she won't even talk to me, and I wrote to her yesterday and she sent it back unopened. She says she can't cope with me any more."

"Oh George." Ginny pulled her brother into her arms again. "If there was a prize for idiocy, you'd win it. You _need _Katie."

"I know. But it's too late now." George was struggling with the sobs rising in his throat. "Gin… You're not – you're not to interfere."

Ginny, who had been resolving to do just that, frowned. "Why not? You're my brother, George, and she's hurting you. Why can't I say something to her?"

"It wasn't her fault, it was mine." George said firmly. "It's my problem to sort out. Don't Ginny, please."

"Okay, I won't," Ginny conceded reluctantly. "But if she won't talk to you or read your letters, you're going to need someone's help to sort it out."

George shook his head. "Maybe – maybe it can't be sorted. I've blown it, Gin." He began to cry in earnest, and Ginny pulled him back into her arms, stroking his hair and murmuring to him until he was calm again. That took some time, and it was closing time before George and Ginny descended the stairs to the shop. Ron was shutting the door behind the last few customers of the day, a look of distinct relief on his face as he flipped the sign on the door to read _'Closed'_. Both he and Harry studiously avoided noticing or commenting on George's red eyes, although Ron mouthed a _"Thanks!"_ at Ginny when George wasn't looking.

"Thank Merlin that day's over!" said Ron. "I think someone must have arranged a day trip to Diagon Alley for awkward so-and-sos today." Even George managed a faint grin at that idea. "Are we going to The Burrow?" Ron continued. "I'm starving."

"Like that's news?" Harry asked. "You're always starving."

Ron made a face at him, but – perhaps mercifully – refrained from answering. Suddenly he remembered the questions he hadn't had time to ask in the chaos in the shop earlier. "Hey," he said. "D'you two know how Bill is? And has Charlie turned up yet?"

Ginny's face was serious as she answered. "Dad's taken Bill to St. Mungo's," she said. "He was still pretty ill when he woke up, and his arm was really bad. And no sign of Charlie – or not by the time we left, anyway."

"Damn and damn," Ron said, frowning, and shrugging out of his shop robes. "C'mon, let's go home."

* * *

Fleur's vision, once it began to return, improved rapidly. Everything was still blurry and hazy, but she could see enough that when the door of her hospital room opened in the early evening, she saw Bill before her mother-in-law, sitting beside the bed, did. She cried out, and opened her arms to her husband, and he, forgetting his weakness and the pain in his arm, crossed the room rapidly, pulling her to him with his good arm as both hers went round him. Neither of them noticed Molly leaving her seat and joining Arthur in the doorway, or the door closing and leaving them alone.

"Eet ees so late, I was worrieed," Fleur said. "Last night – eet was bad?"

Bill nodded, turning and sitting on the bed, pulling Fleur back so she was leaning against him, his arm still round her shoulders. "It – it was horrible," he said quietly. "Charlie and Percy were amazing, but I wanted you so badly." He closed his eyes, pulling Fleur closer to him. "I'm sorry I worried you, love."

She smiled, turning her face up to kiss him, and tracing the scars on his face with her fingertips. "I weell let you off zis once," she said gravely. "I sink I 'ave worrieed you enough zis week after all." Her eyes widened as her hand slid down to his chest, and encountered the sling and the heavy bandaging on his left arm. "Bill! What ees zis? Deed your scar open again?"

"Yeah. Yeah, it did. And it was infected as well – Healer Drummond she reckons there was some extra contamination in there that meant it never healed as well as the others. She used some special potion on it – that hurt like hell – and dressed it, but she said it'll take a few weeks to heal properly."

"Oh, Bill! I should 'ave been zere for you." Fleur was nearly in tears, and he hugged her tightly.

"Don't be silly," he told her firmly. "It's not your fault you're not well. What you should have done, of course, is to marry someone who never met a werewolf and who doesn't go slightly mad every time there's a Full Moon."

She smiled up at him. "And what you should 'ave done ees to marry a purely 'uman girl, 'oo can 'ave babies wizout all zis fuss," she said.

He laughed, and kissed her hard. "We're going to be okay, Fleur," he said.

"I know chéri," she replied, kissing him back. "I know we are."


	74. Resolution: II

_Finally, the end of this everlasting week! A few chapters for March coming, and then the twins' birthday._

_Please read and review._

**Some resolution (Charlie)**

By lunchtime on Sunday, Charlie's continued absence was causing consternation among his family. They were used to him disappearing on his own when he was badly upset, but there was only one previous occasion when he had been missing for over twenty four hours – and that had been over ten years ago when he was still at school. Bill was at the hospital with Fleur, and at Arthur's insistence, had not been told that Charlie had disappeared. Bill had had more than enough to worry about in the last week, his father said, he was still far from being completely well himself, and – knowing Bill – he would blame himself for being the cause of Charlie's unhappiness.

The rest of the family had searched for Charlie in every place they could think of. George and Harry had taken brooms and gone to the village, including the Muggle pub, the graveyard and the cave in the hills. Arthur, Percy and Ron had trawled Diagon Alley and Knockturn Alley, and Hogsmeade too. Hermione and Ginny had gone to Shell Cottage, and had looked along the cliff paths in both directions. Everyone drew a blank.

"Perhaps Bill would have some idea?" Ginny asked, as the family assembled in the kitchen, everyone looking worried, and Molly surreptitiously wiping her eyes with the corner of her apron.

But her father shook his head. "Bill doesn't need to know about this. I doubt if he could come up with anywhere we haven't looked anyway." He put an arm around his wife. "Calm down, Molly. He'll turn up eventually. He always does."

"Could he have gone back to Romania?" George asked, frowning. "He has to be back for work tomorrow after all."

"His stuff's still here," Percy objected. "And surely he'd've left a note or something?"

Everyone looked at each other, but no one seemed to have any further suggestions. Molly sighed and shook herself. "Let's have some lunch," she said, in a voice that fell just short of brisk and businesslike. "You three …" she nodded at Ginny, Harry and Hermione "… need to be back at school by three o'clock or Professor McGonagall will want to know where you've got to."

In a few minutes, with everyone's help, lunch was on the table. It was a silent meal, with all of them thinking about where Charlie could possibly have got to. Arthur insisted on Ginny, Harry and Hermione going back to Hogwarts as planned, despite Ginny's protests that she didn't want to go anywhere while Charlie's whereabouts was still a mystery.

"He'll turn up," Arthur told her firmly. "And there's nothing you can do about it anyway. Go and get ready." Ginny made a face, but obeyed. She might be of age, and officially an adult, but she knew well enough that there was no arguing with her father when he spoke in that tone of voice. But there was a surprise for her when the three of them arrived at Hogwarts. Professor McGonagall was waiting in the Entrance Hall, and she called Ginny over to her.

"Did you know your brother was here, Miss Weasley?" she enquired, her eyebrows raised.

"My brother?" Ginny was too surprised to be as polite as she normally would be to the Headmistress. "D'you mean Charlie?"

"Yes," Professor McGonagall said. "I saw him by the Memorial Board this morning. I thought it was George at first. He ran off when he realised I was there. He definitely gave the impression that he didn't want to talk to anyone."

Ginny frowned. "That figures. He – he was upset, and…" Her voice tailed off.

"Doing one of his disappearing acts?" Professor McGonagall asked sympathetically. "I remember those from when he was at school. We never did work out then where he got to. You'd better do what you can to find him, I suppose." She glanced briefly at Harry as she spoke, and he found himself wondering whether she knew more about the Marauder's Map than she'd ever let on. Ten minutes later, Harry, Hermione and Ginny were poring over the Map in a corner of the Gryffindor Common Room. But look as they might, they could not find Charlie.

"He _must _be on here," Ginny said desperately, for at least the third time. "Unless he's gone to Hogsmeade or down to Hagrid's?"

"If he was at Hagrid's, he'd still be on the Map," Hermione pointed out sensibly. "And your Dad and Percy looked in Hogsmeade this morning. How about the Room of Requirement? We wouldn't see him on the Map if he was in there."

Ginny bit her lip and looked doubtful. "Does he even know the Room's there?" she asked. "He wasn't here for the beginning of the Battle, so he didn't get in that way, and Bill said _he _never knew about the Room when he was at school."

"Doesn't mean Charlie didn't," Harry pointed out. "McGonagall said they never worked out where he disappeared to when he was at school. Perhaps he found the Room then."

"It's worth a try," Hermione said firmly, folding up the Map and handing it to Harry. "Come on."

Once they were standing in the seventh floor corridor opposite the blank stretch of wall where they knew the Room to be, Harry and Hermione both looked at Ginny. "This is down to you I think, Ginny," Harry said. "If someone's in there, the Room'll only open if it's someone the person inside wants them to come in. Charlie isn't likely to want to see me or Hermione." Ginny grimaced, but had to concede the truth of what he said. Harry and Hermione hung back, and Ginny walked to and fro, concentrating on every variation of _"I need to find Charlie" _and _"I need to know where Charlie is"_ that she could think of. After fifteen minutes, however, she had to admit defeat.

"If he's in there, he doesn't want me to come in," she said, coming back to the others, looking crestfallen. "What are we going to _do_?"

Uncharacteristically, she looked as if she might cry, and Harry put an arm round her shoulders. "We'd better Floo The Burrow," he said. "I'm pretty sure he's in there. Perhaps he might come out for your Mum or Dad."

"I doubt it," Ginny muttered. "He might for Bill, but Dad says we're not to tell Bill."

"Well, we might have to," Harry said. "Come on, let's find McGonagall and see if she'll let us use her office fireplace."

But when they Flooed The Burrow, they found that there was a visitor there. Eleri Llewellyn, worried by a note which Charlie had sent to her brother Idris the previous day, had arrived shortly after Ginny and the other two had left for Hogwarts.

"He said he wasn't coming back to the reserve today," she had explained to Arthur, Molly, Percy, George and Ron. "And he _has _to. Dr. Vieuxhomme was mad enough at him leaving last week when he'd been told not to. If he isn't back for work tomorrow, he'll lose his job." She looked around at the shocked expressions on the Weasleys' faces. "You didn't know, did you?" she asked, as comprehension dawned. "That he shouldn't have left when he did?"

"No," Arthur said, inwardly resolving that this was another thing that Bill wouldn't hear about if he could help it. "So now we really _have_ to find him today. If only we knew where to look."

Fortunately, Ginny's head appeared in the fireplace soon after this, giving a somewhat garbled account of what had happened at Hogwarts, and concluding, "We're sure he's in there, but he won't come out. What are we going to _do_?"

Eleri, who had never heard of the Room of Requirement and who had only been at Hogwarts for a year as her family had moved around form country to country during her childhood, found that she was the focus of all eyes in the room.

"He might come out for you, dear," Molly said hopefully.

A few minutes later, Eleri, who had been briefed somewhat incoherently by Ron about the properties of the Room of Requirement, found herself Flooing into the office of a tall and slightly formidable-looking witch whom she vaguely remembered from her time at Hogwarts as a thirteen year old. (She had spent that year in Ravenclaw, so had never known Professor McGonagall particularly well.) A little later, she was standing by a blank stretch of wall on the seventh floor of the Castle, being told by Harry Potter (whom she had never imagined meeting in circumstances like this) that all she had to do was concentrate on needing to find Charlie.

She was somewhat sceptical, but did as she was told, and on her second pass in front of the wall, was astonished by the appearance of a large oak door which she opened and went through. Ginny, harry, Hermione and Arthur, who had accompanied Eleri to Hogwarts, sighed with relief.

They had to wait nearly an hour before a shamefaced Charlie emerged, hand-in-hand with Eleri, although he dropped her hand abruptly at the sight of his father.

"Sorry, Dad," he muttered, his face and ears reddening. There were dark shadows under his eyes, and he had clearly been crying, but he managed a half-smile for his sister. "Sorry, Gingersnap," he said, pulling her into a hug.

Arthur clapped him on the shoulder. "Come on, son," he said quietly. "Let's go home."

* * *

Molly and Arthur were alone in their living room later that evening.

"Do you think they'll be alright?" Molly asked, somewhat tremulously.

Arthur sighed as he passed her one of two generously filled glasses of Firewhisky. "Who in particular?" he asked, slightly warily.

She glared at him in frustration. "All of them, Arthur!" she said tartly.

He sat on the settee beside her and put his arm round her shoulders. "In the long term, love," he said quietly. "I think they are _all_ going to be okay. "In the short term…" He shook his head. "Bill and Fleur are going to be fine. They're both getting better, and they know how to look after each other. Percy and Ron and Ginny are more or less okay. _And_ Harry and Hermione. George and Charlie…" He shook his head. "They're having a rough time right now. But they'll get through it. This family pulls together, Molly. We'll get them through it."

Molly blinked back tears, and rested her head on his shoulder. "I hope so. I know Percy and Ron have plans to keep a close eye on George. You know he's split with Katie? And it's only three weeks till – till…" She stopped and swallowed.

"I know, love," Arthur said quietly. "And there's no way that isn't going to be hard for all of us. George most of all, of course. But we _will_ get through it. We will, I promise you."

"Mm. I suppose so. But Charlie… Arthur, I hated sending him back to Romania in such a state."

"Moll – we didn't _send _him back. He went because he had to. He has a job – a job he loves and is good at. He might have been upset, but at least he'd come round enough to realise he had to go back for that."

"I know but… Arthur?"

"What, love?"

"He – he seemed almost – relieved – at not seeing Bill before he went. That doesn't make any sense."

Arthur sighed, and pulled her closer. "I think – I rather think he feels he let Bill down."

"What?" Molly's voice was shrill with indignation. "Why on earth? Bill would never have got through this last week without him."

"I know that," Arthur said patiently. "You know that, so does Bill. But Charlie… Percy said it got to the point on Friday night where he simply couldn't cope with seeing Bill in pain and he had to send him inside to get a drink. And yesterday too. You know Charlie. He'd see that as letting Bill down, as not being there for him when he needed him."

"Arthur, that's rubbish…"

"I know, love," Arthur said quietly. "But Charlie has to work that out for himself. And I don't think he's seeing things very clearly at the moment. When you think about it, he's had one hell of a week, with George last week and Bill this. But he'll get though it, Molly. That girl of his will make sure of it, by the look of her. She cared enough to come all the way over here because she was worried about him. And he's strong, and has plenty of common sense when he chooses to use it."

Molly snorted. "When he _chooses_ to. That's the trouble. Sometimes, he's so like Gideon…" The tears gathering in her eyes overflowed at the mention of her brother. Arthur picked up her glass of Firewhisky from the table in front of them, and handed it to her.

"Drink," he ordered. "You need it. He'll be okay, Mollywobbles. They all will."

He picked up his own glass, and took a sip. He hoped what he was saying was true.


	75. March: I

_My goodness, the world has ended! **Finally**, an update to this story. Don't get too excited - nothing actually **happens **in this chapter - though things will in the next, I promise._

_Please leave a review!_

**March**

**I**

George was alone in the shop on a sunny morning towards the end of March. Ron was packaging orders in the stockroom, and Angelina had taken the day off to go to Holyhead and finalise terms for her taking up a position as Chaser in the Harpies in mid-April. There were no customers in the shop at the moment, and the only sound was the music from the radio, turned on low, interspersed with Lee's chatter. George was trying to write an advert for _The Prophet_ for new shop assistant, but his heart was not in it. He had known when Angelina took up the post in January that it was only temporary and that they would have to find a permanent replacement sooner or later, but he still hated the idea. Having a stranger working in the shop – someone who had not known Fred – felt all wrong.

George sighed, and crossed out the third draft of his advert, screwing up the parchment and throwing into the bin beneath the counter, which belched loudly. Perhaps he would be better leaving it to Ron, who – he had to admit – seemed to have much more of a head for business than he did himself. Not that he seemed to be any better at inventing and innovating these days. He hadn't had a decent idea in weeks. Everything he came up with seemed artificial, wooden, lacking a certain something that he couldn't quite put his finger on. He groaned, and scowled at the picture behind the till of himself and Fred outside the shop soon after it opened.

"I don't know what the hell you're grinning at," he told Fred's picture irritably. "The rate I'm going this place won't be viable much longer." But the photo-Fred only smirked and winked, as if in mockery. George sighed. As time went on, he was finding it harder and harder to believe that his conversation with Fred in the graveyard was anything more than his imagination. There was the evidence of the Hangman of course, but really, if he couldn't see, hear or even _feel _Fred's presence most of the time, what difference did it make whether he was there or not?

When it came down to it, at rock bottom, George was achingly lonely. And it seemed to be getting worse instead of better. Indeed, there seemed to be no prospect of it _ever _getting better, and the thought of feeling this empty, this incomplete, this _broken _for weeks or months or years frankly scared him. He now clung to the first few moments of every day when he usually still woke forgetting that Fred was dead as if to a lifeline. For that tiny part of each day, George felt whole again, and the feeling was almost worth the crushing weight of the reality that invariably hit him soon after waking. Fred was dead. He was never going to see him again. He was on his own. Sometimes the reality and awfulness of it left him breathless even now.

His family and friends were doing their best. It was pretty obvious that Percy and Ron had an agreement that he should not spend an evening alone if they could prevent it; his mother nagged him to come to The Burrow at least twice a week for what she called "a decent meal", and his father and Bill were popping into the shop during their lunch hours or after work much more often than had been their previous habit. Lee and Oliver seemed to be in on it too – they were always calling him up and insisting he come out for a drink or to a concert or a Quidditch match.

In short, George was being very well looked after, and he hated it. He hated the necessity of it; he hated how they all felt sorry for him; he hated the fact that he felt as helpless as they obviously all did about what might actually make him feel better. And he hated the way they watched him – or he felt that they watched him – in case he tried to do what they all referred to as _"something stupid"_ again.

The one person he felt might be able to actually help him – Katie, of course – would not even talk to him. He missed her more than he would have imagined possible just a few months ago. He missed her impish sense of humour and the feeling of her small hand in his. He missed her voice and the way she brought him out of himself. Most of all, he missed the way she managed to convey her sympathy without making him feel pitied or diminished or _looked after_. He had tried writing to her again, with the same result as before. In addition, she had sent a message via Angelina (who passed it on to him with a look of pity on her face that made George want to scream) that she did not want to hear from him again. He had told her to go away, and she had done as he asked. If he regretted that now, it was his own fault. She simply could not cope with him any more. She was sorry, but that was the way it was. That seemed pretty final, and George was trying to accept it, but it made the feelings of loneliness and abandonment – even in the midst of the care and concern surrounding him – even harder to bear.

Sometimes, at night when he could not sleep – and when only his promise to Fleur and the knowledge that Ron would hear and come and see what he was doing, kept him away form the Firewhisky bottle in the kitchen – he wondered if this was how it was going to be forever. Was he really going to feel this lonely, this detached from reality for the rest of his life? Was there ever going to be a day when the ordinary business of daily life didn't hurt? When everything he did wasn't pervaded with a sense of loss and incompleteness? Was he ever going to feel normal again? He was beginning to think not.

And always, now, at the back of his mind, was the awareness of the date… March the twentieth, the twenty-first, twenty-second… Twelve days, eleven, ten, until his – their – _his _birthday. He would be twenty-one. Fred was twenty forever. It was unbearable. He literally did not know how he was going to bear it.

And no one would let him ignore it. If he went to bed on March the thirty-first and stayed there until April the second, it would be bad enough. He would still be older than Fred would ever be, would have moved away from him in some way that he could not define but still knew was horribly real, but at least he would not have to celebrate the fact. But his mother was insisting on a full-blown party at The Burrow – with friends as well as family – and would not be swayed.

"It's your birthday, George, we can't ignore your birthday," was the only reply he got when he asked her to reconsider. And although his father and brothers and sister sympathised with him, they were all backing his mother up for one reason or another.

His father's argument was that it was something that his mother needed to do – and George was at least grateful that he was being asked to do something for someone else for a change, rather than everyone feeling that they had to defer to him as seemed to happen most of the time. Ginny backed their father up. Her owl from school had borne a message both short and to the point: _"I hate the idea too, but we have to do it for Mum. I'll hold your hand. Ginny xxx." _Bill and Percy had both pointed out – with a logic that George could not argue with, but that he still felt was missing a vital something – that of any of the rest of them had died, they would still mark that person's birthday, so it would not be right to ignore Fred's just because it happened to be George's as well. And Ron – in a bad temper that George suspected originated from a dread of the occasion almost as great as his own – had demanded: "We can't ignore your birthday forever, can we? I suppose Mum thinks we'd better start as we mean to go on."

The only person who George thought probably agreed with him about the whole idea – Charlie – was miles away in Romania, and – having always been one of the world's worst correspondents – seemed to be doing his best to ignore his family completely at the moment. George would not be surprised if Charlie simply refused to turn up. He wished wholeheartedly that he could do the same.

But he couldn't, and despite the fact that each individual lonely day seemed to drag interminably, they days leading up to April the first seemed to be magically contracting so that the date he dreaded was rushing up to him at alarming speed.

He simply didn't know how he was going to bear it.


	76. March: II

**March **

**II**

George was so used by this time to his family checking up in him regularly, that he was not at all surprised to see Bill at the door of the shop shortly after closing time that Friday. He merely opened the door to let him in, and threw him a leather bag from underneath the counter, nodding towards the till.

"Count and bag what's in there for me, would you?" he asked. "Can you manage that one-handed?"

Bill nodded. "I don't think I'm _ever _going to get rid of this bloody sling," he said ruefully. "I can do most things one-handed by now." He went over to the till, and began to count out the day's takings, while George returned to his own task of restocking a shelf of fireworks.

"Where are Ron and Angelina?" Bill asked, after they had worked in companionable silence for a few minutes.

"Lee and Ange are going somewhere for the weekend, and Ron's gone up to Hogsmeade," George said. "How's Fleur?"

"Bored stiff," Bill said. "But otherwise fine. She wants to know if you want help with that Wonderwitch stuff again."

George looked up, surprised. "Yeah, if she's up to it," he said. "She'd do it at home, presumably, not here?"

"Yeah. She's still not supposed to do anything at all energetic. But she can do mixing that stuff sitting down. Just don't give her too much to do, please."

"Of course I won't. Tell her I'll talk to her about it on Sunday, will you? You are going to Mum and Dad's for lunch?"

"Yeah. Yeah we are." Bill hesitated, looking at his brother with a questioning expression, which George picked up on straight away.

"What's up?"

"I need a favour, George."

"Sure. What?"

Bill laughed. "You're very trusting, aren't you? You don't know what I'm going to ask yet."

George laughed too. "Okay, I reserve my right to change my mind. What d'you want?"

"Talk to Charlie for me," was the sufficiently startling reply, and George raised his eyebrows in surprise.

"Talk to Charlie? About what? Wouldn't it be easier for you to talk to him yourself?"

Bill finished counting the handful of Sickles he was holding before replying. "That's just the point, George. I can't. He won't talk to me or owl me or anything. Or nothing beyond, 'Yes, I'm fine. No you haven't done anything wrong. Please stop fussing.' I've tried owling him and Flooing, and it's like talking to a stranger. I need to know what I've done to upset him so I can put it right."

George frowned. "Are you sure it's you? I mean – Charlie isn't being very communicative with anyone lately. Mum was holding forth about it yesterday. He was pretty upset about everything that happened last time he was home."

Bill sighed. "I know, but – George, he'd always talk to me even if he wouldn't to anyone else. You know he would."

"So what makes you think he's going to talk to me?"

"He might not. He's an obstinate sod when he chooses to be. But would you try, George – please? He's more likely to talk to you than to Percy or Ron or Ginny."

"Sure I'll try," George said. "I'll Floo him tonight. But no guarantees I'll get anywhere with him."

The worried expression on Bill's face cleared, and he smiled. "Thanks, George."

-

So it was that George found himself the following evening in a bar in Romania with Charlie, drinking something which Charlie described as "the best beer in Europe", but which George felt was probably an acquired taste. They had been talking about Quidditch, but when they came to a pause in the conversation, Charlie looked at his brother questioningly.

"What's up, George? You're not telling me you've come all the way over here just to talk about the Cannons' chances against the Tigers – which are non-existent anyway, whatever Bill and Ron might like to think."

George smiled. "They like to dream…" He looked down at his beer, avoiding Charlie's eyes. "Bill asked me to come. He wants to know what he's done to upset you."

He heard Charlie's sharp intake of breath, but there was no answer for so long that he began to wonder if his brother was ever going to answer him.

Eventually, however, Charlie spoke. "Why does he think he's upset me?" he asked in a strained voice.

George sighed inwardly. Charlie must know perfectly well how he was treating Bill, but he obviously had no intention of making this easy.

"He says that trying to talk to you is like talking to a stranger." George looked up at his brother, but Charlie was staring into his glass, and clearly had no intention of meeting his eyes. "What's up, Charlie? You'll normally talk to Bill, even if you won't to anyone else. I know you had a pretty rough time last time you came home, but that's no reason to ignore us all."

"Isn't it?" There was a definite note of bitterness in Charlie's voice now. "I let Bill down, George. I let everyone down."

"Charlie!" George said, loudly enough that several people in the bar turned towards them to see what was going on, "How in hell d'you work that one out? You didn't let anyone down."

Charlie shook his head, still refusing to look at George. "I did. I couldn't cope with seeing Bill in so much pain." He swallowed hard. "I left Percy to manage. And then I ran out on him again that last morning – ran out on all of you in fact." He drained his glass, and buried his face in his hands so that his last words were practically indistinguishable. "I let you all down."

"Charlie, that's crap," George said, reaching out and putting a hand on Charlie's arm. "You didn't let us down." There was no response, and George sighed and stood up, going over to the bar and returning with a Firewhisky and a Butterbeer.

"Drink," he ordered sternly, putting the Firewhisky down in front of his brother. "And talk to me, for Godric's sake."

Charlie downed the Firewhisky in one and glowered at George. "What's to say? And why aren't you drinking this stuff too?"

"Can't," George said succinctly. "Promised Fleur I wouldn't."

"Fleur?" Charlie looked uncomprehendingly at him.

"Yes, Fleur," George said with exaggerated patience. "But don't change the subject. You didn't let anyone down, Charlie. Bill would never have got through that week when Fleur was so ill without you. And you saved my life, for Merlin's sake."

Charlie shook his head. "I ran out on Bill when he needed me. I ran out on all of you."

George almost smiled. "Well, I won't say we couldn't have done without one of your disappearing acts, Charlie, but – you can't help the way you react to things. And you only ran out on Bill because you were upset. And that was because you care about him. No one's blaming you for that, least of all Bill."

But Charlie was not to be persuaded. "I let him down," he repeated obstinately.

"Charlie…" George was beginning to feel rather as if he was banging his head against a brick wall here, but he persisted. "You hung onto me even after I broke your bloody arm and stopped me going over that cliff. You came home when Fleur was ill and Bill needed you, even though it meant putting your job on the line. I don't know how much more you think we expect of you."

Charlie's head jerked up at the mention of his job. "How d'you know about that? I didn't want anyone to know."

"Eleri let it slip. She didn't realise we didn't know." George paused. "She's nice, Charlie."

There was a hint of a question there, and Charlie picked up on it.

"Yeah she is, he said, sighing. "Too bloody good for the likes of me."

"For fuck's sake, Charlie!" George was getting angry now. "Will you please _stop _putting yourself down? Eleri obviously cares enough about you to come over to England because she was worried about you. She certainly didn't give the impression she thought she was too good for you."

Charlie shook his head. "She is though."

"Oh, for Merlin's sake, Charlie…" George realised he had no idea at all how to cope with Charlie in this mood. He looked at his brother worriedly. "You are coming next week, aren't you? For our – my – birthday?"

Charlie glowered. "D'you think I want to?"

George was really angry now, and slammed his fist down hard on the table. "Fuck it, Charlie! D'you think any of us _want _to do it? D'you think _I _want to?" He stopped and swallowed hard. "I don't have a choice, Charlie. Please come. I – I need you there."

Charlie shook his head, scowling. "You don't need me."

"I do. Please come, Charlie. Please."

Charlie shook his head again, and George realised he was not going to get anywhere with him tonight.

"Okay," he said. "Be an obstinate self-pitying sod, if that's what you want. But you'd damn well better Floo Mum and tell her you're not coming, rather than leave the rest of us to pick up the pieces when you don't turn up."

Charlie continued to glower at him, but did not reply. George sighed in frustration.

"I need to go," he said, getting to his feet. "See you whenever, I guess."

Again, Charlie did not respond. He remained sitting at the table, frowning into his empty glass, while George left the bar, scrabbling in his pocket for the Portkey that would take him home.


	77. March:III

_Finally an update! Thanks for your patience if you've been waiting for this. **The Birthday** is next, I promise...._

**March**

**III**

**Wednesday 28****th**** March - Gringotts**

"Ten minutes," Bill told George sternly as he turned to go. "Or you'll get me sacked." He left the room, and the door locked shut behind him. Katie, who had dropped the pile of papers that Bill had asked for on the desk, went to open it.

"You won't be able to," George told her, standing up from where he had been sitting in front of the desk. His face was very white. "Bill's a curse-breaker. If he locks a door, it stays locked."

Katie turned to him, her face as pale as his, but her eyes angry. "I could get him fired for this."

"You won't though," George said with confidence. "His wife's pregnant. You wouldn't."

Katie sighed and slumped into a chair. "No, I wouldn't," she admitted. She closed her eyes. "But I don't want to hear it, George. I've heard it all before."

"Please Katie." He perched on the edge of the desk, his brown eyes pleading. "Just hear me out. Please."

"I don't have a lot of choice, do I?" Katie muttered, her arms folded and her expression stony. "Just be quick about it."

George took a deep breath. "I've been every kind of idiot, Katie," he said quietly. "Fred – Fred would be ashamed of me. I don't deserve you. I don't deserve you to take me back after how I've behaved, but… Please, Kay. Give me one more chance. Please."

Her eyes, filled with a mixture of anger and compassion, met his. "How many more chances do you want, George?"

He spread his hands out. "Just this one, I promise. If – if I blow it this time, you can walk away and I won't ask you to come back. I promise." He stopped, and swallowed. "I know I don't deserve it, Katie," he added quietly.

"No, you don't." Katie's voice was firm but cracked on the last word, and she hid her face in her hands so that he could barely make out the next words. "You're not the boy I fell in love with, George."

"I know." George's own voice cracked and he risked putting a hand on Katie's shoulder. "That George died when Fred did. I'm sorry. I can't bring him back."

Her face when she raised it to his was wet with tears. "Okay," she said. "One more chance. But it really is the last one. I mean it. I can't take any more, George."

"I know. Thanks." Thanks didn't seem very adequate, but he couldn't think of what else to say. George's knees felt weak with relief, and he leant back against the desk. Katie stood and put her arms round him, and when Bill re-entered his office after a cursory knock, they were still clinging together, although they pulled apart rapidly enough at his entrance. He obligingly pretended not to notice, either that or the fact that both of them were wet-eyed. He pulled the papers Katie had brought towards himself and scribbled a signature on the bottom of each.

"You'd better take those back," he told Katie with a smile. "Before Miss Payne comes looking for you."

Katie muttered something, snatched up the papers and fled, with a backwards glance at George.

Once she had left, he sank into a chair, running his hands through his hair.

"I gather she's giving you another chance?" Bill asked.

"Mmm." George nodded.

"Just don't blow it this time," Bill told him sternly, though his eyes were sympathetic.

"I won't." George pulled himself to his feet to go. "Thanks Bill. See you Sunday."

"Yeah, bye George."

George left, and could not stop a smile from spreading across his face as he descended the stairs and left the bank to return to the shop.

**Friday 30th March – Srenivici, Romania**

_Charlie – _

_You didn't let me down. You didn't let anyone down. Please stop wallowing, and make up your mind to come on Sunday. Yes, it's probably going to be bloody awful, but the rest of us don't have a choice. __George__ doesn't have a choice. We need you there, Charlie. I need you there._

_Bill_

Charlie crumpled Bill's note in his hand and glared at Eleri.

"Stop nagging me, will you?" he demanded. "You're as bad as everyone else. And it's not even your business."

Eleri glared at him in return. She had a temper as hot as his own, a fact which he had already discovered to his cost.

"_Sure _it's not my business," she told him. "Like you're not my business. Like I didn't come all they way to bloody England to find you and make sure you didn't lose your job. Like I didn't see how worried your family were about you then. Of course it's not my business."

Charlie shook his head, avoiding her eyes. "I don't know why you have to back Bill up. You've never even met him."

Eleri shook her head in exasperation. "What the hell's that got to do with it? I know you care enough about him to put your job on the line for him when he needed you. Whether I've met him or not is _not _the point." She drew a breath. "And I've met the rest of them. I've met _George_. This about him, Charlie, not you. He'll want you there."

Charlie's face flamed scarlet, and he hid it in his hands. "You don't understand, Eleri," he said. "I can't face it. I just can't."

She sat down beside him at the table and took his hand. "D'you really think any of them can face it, Charlie?" she asked quietly. "That George can? Bill's right. None of the others have a choice. And as I see it, you don't either. You have to go, Charlie."

There was a long silence. Then: "Come with me." Charlie's voice was gruff.

Eleri squeezed his hand. "Of course, if you want me to."

"Thanks." He pulled her into a hug, and she held him until his shoulders stopped shaking.

**Saturday 31****st**** March – Diagon Alley**

"Where are you going?" Ron demanded of George on the Saturday. The day before The Birthday.

But George shook his head. "Not telling, Ron. However many times you ask me." There was a hint of the old mischief in his eyes, which would have pleased Ron had he not been so exasperated. "Since when did we have to tell Ickle Ronniekins what we were doing?"

Ron winced inwardly at the "we" wondering if George himself had even been aware of saying it. "Okay, okay," he said, raising his hands in surrender. "But you will be back tonight, won't you? Promise me, George." His face was so earnest and so concerned that George felt a pang of anger at the circumstances that meant his kid brother was perpetually worried about him. "I'll be back tonight," he promised. "I'll see you at Mum and Dad's this evening. Promise."

Ron's expression cleared and he smiled. "You'd better," he said, aiming a punch at his brother which George parried easily. "See you later." He turned back to the shop and Angelina, who had a fairly good idea of where George was going, but was not going to tell a secret that was not her own. George himself walked off briskly down Diagon Alley to the Leaky Cauldron, where a small red-headed figure was sitting alone in a corner.

"You're late," she said accusingly as she came over to hug him.

"Sorry, Gin," he apologised, returning the hug. "Ron was agitating to know where I was going. And no," he added, forestalling her anxious question, "I didn't tell him. What about Harry and Hermione? Did you tell them?"

Ginny shook her head. "No. I just told them I had something I had to do on my own." She sighed. "I think – I think they thought it was something to do with Fred, and I let them think that because it meant they didn't ask questions. It was easier than arguing." She looked up at her brother, frowning. "I don't want them to know, George. If I don't get it, I don't want anyone to know."

George smiled and hugged her again. "You'll get it," he assured her. "You're a bloody good flier. Clearly runs in the family. They'd be nuts not to have you."

Ginny looked uncertain, but did not argue. "Will you Side-Along me?" she merely asked. "I'll Splinch myself if I try to do it."

George nodded, and picked up the bag she had left by the table. "Get your broom then, sis," he instructed. "You'll be needing it."


	78. The Twins' Birthday: I

_Oh my goodness, **finally** we get there._

_Please find it in your hearts to forgive the long delay and read and review._

**1st April 1999** **Fred and George Weasley's birthday. George Weasley is 21.**

**The Burrow**

George woke on his birthday morning, and the bed on the other side of the room was empty.

He groaned, and rolled over in Fred's bed, muttering, "Happy birthday, Fred," because he simply couldn't help it. Maybe Fred could hear him, even if he himself felt the emptiness of Fred's absence every waking minute.

"Where is he?" George murmured, half to himself and half to the seemingly absent Fred. George's own bed was empty, and it shouldn't be. Where the hell was Percy?

He knew of course. He didn't need Fred to tell him. He knew where Percy would have gone, and he couldn't leave him there alone. He got out of bed and pulled on some clothes, and managed to make it down the stairs without anyone coming to see where he was going, although he heard Ginny and Hermione's voices as he passed their door.

The kitchen was empty. George averted his eyes from the covered plates and bowls on the table ready for the party that no one knew how to face. Percy's hand on their mother's clock pointed unhelpfully to "out", but George knew where he was. He shivered, and pulled a cloak from the hooks by the back door before going out.

He Apparated to the gates of the graveyard, and his feet took him without conscious thought to the far corner where Fred was buried. But he stopped short in the group of trees near the grave. Percy was there as he had expected, kneeling on the grave with his head bowed and one hand on the headstone. But he was not on his own.

**Shell Cottage**

"Bill! Bill!"

Bill's head jerked up at the sound of his wife's frantic voice from upstairs, and he set his cup of tea down on the kitchen table with a bang. It was still early – Fleur shouldn't even be awake yet. He ran up the stairs three at a time and burst into their bedroom, to find Fleur sitting on the bed, half-dressed and with tears on her cheeks. He crossed the room in one stride and sat beside her, pulling her to him.

"Fleur? What is it? What's happened?" he asked anxiously.

"I - I…. My skirt weell not do up!" Fleur wailed, and buried her face in Bill's shoulder, sobbing bitterly.

Bill nearly laughed, he was so relieved. He tipped her face up to his, and kissed her wet cheeks. "Fleur love… You're pregnant. You're _supposed _to put on weight," he pointed out.

But Fleur was not to be placated so easily. "I weell get fat and 'orreeble and you weell not love me any more!" she sobbed.

Bill _was_ laughing now. He pulled Fleur to him again, and held her close. "Fleur… If you can overlook me having half my face eaten by a werewolf, I'm sure I can come to terms with you putting on some weight because you're carrying our baby." He kissed her again. "You know I love you for more than the way you look," he said. "I'll still love you even if you get to be the size of a house."

Fleur swallowed and rubbed at her eyes with her hands. "I – I am being seelly, aren't I?" she asked shakily.

"Just a bit," he told her, smiling. "But I still love you."

Fleur managed a very watery smile. "Eef I get to be ze size of a 'ouse, where weell we leeve?" she asked sweetly.

Bill pretended to consider. "Hmm," he said seriously. "Hadn't thought of that. Do you think that you could manage to stop at the size of a Hippogriff, maybe? Ow!"

He broke off abruptly, putting his good arm up to defend himself, because Fleur, smiling herself now, had turned on him, hitting him with her fists. The two of them rolled over on the bed, both laughing. They were interrupted by the sound of someone hammering on the back door downstairs. They sat up, Bill reaching into his pocket for his wand, and Fleur retrieving hers from the bedside table. The habits of the war were hard to break.

Bill grimaced. "It's probably George or someone," he said. ""I'll go. You stay here."

He descended the stairs and went through the kitchen to open the door. He was confronted by a small, exceedingly pretty dark-haired woman whom he had never seen before. She had an anxious look on her face.

"Bill Weasley?" she asked. "I'm Eleri Llewellyn. I don't suppose Charlie's here, is he?"

Bill gaped at her. "Charlie? No. Is he supposed to be here? I didn't think he was coming."

She sighed. "He wasn't, but… It's complicated. Can I come in?"

"Of course." Bill stood back to let her in and waved her to a seat at the table, pointing at the teapot and raising his eyebrows questioningly.

Eleri nodded. "Please."

She accepted a mug of tea from Bill, and took a mouthful before starting to talk. "I – well, I finally persuaded Charlie he needed to come to the party," she said. "We Portkeyed to London last night, and stayed at the Leaky overnight. Charlie wouldn't tell anyone he was coming, although I wanted him to. I think he thought he could still change his mind if no one knew he was coming." She pulled a face. "Which is what he seems to have done…"

She sighed, and put down her tea as Fleur, now fully dressed, appeared in the doorway. Bill performed rapid introductions, and Fleur sat down at the table next to Eleri.

"Charlie's girl?" she asked with a smile.

Eleri nodded. "I guess." She sighed. "Though I seem to have lost him at the moment. We Apparated to The Burrow this morning. But when we got to the gate, Charlie just said, 'I can't do this' and Disapparated. I thought he might have come here."

Bill shook his head, and exchanged a glance with his wife. "I bet I know where he is though. He'll have gone to the graveyard I should think. You two stay here. I'll find him." He went into the hallway, and returned with his cloak. He kissed Fleur and left, and they heard the crack as he Disapparated in the yard outside.

**The Graveyard, Ottery St. Catchpole**

As George had done a few minutes earlier, Bill Apparated by the gates of the graveyard and made his way rapidly towards Fred's grave. But he stopped short at the sight of George in the stand of trees near the grave.

George managed a slightly feeble grin at the sight of him. "Whoa!" he said. "It's getting crowded round here." He nodded towards the grave, where Percy was still kneeling, Charlie beside him with his arm round his shoulders. "Though I haven't quite figured out how Charlie got here…"

"Eleri just turned up at our place," Bill informed him. "Apparently they stayed at the Leaky Cauldron last night, but Charlie refused to tell anyone he was coming. But when they got to The Burrow this morning, he Dispparated. Eleri thought he might have come to us. Did you come looking for Percy?"

George nodded. "Yeah. He was gone when I woke up this morning. I knew he'd be here. He's not coping with this." He swallowed. "Neither am I, really."

Bill grimaced, and put a hand on his brother's shoulder. "None of us are," he said quietly. "Do I say 'Happy Birthday' or not?"

George blinked rapidly and scrubbed a hand across his eyes. "I think I'd rather you didn't. It doesn't feel – right." He swallowed hard, and Bill drew him into a brief one-armed hug.

"Go home, George," he said. "I'll deal with Charlie and Perce. Tell Mum to expect us later."

George looked up at his brother, frowning slightly. "You're sure? Percy's my problem really."

"Not today," Bill said firmly. "Go home, and we'll be over later."

"Okay. Thanks." George moved a little way away form his brother and Disapparated, leaving Bill to approach the grave – and Charlie and Percy – on his own.


	79. The Twins' Birthday: II

_I know, I know, this has taken forever and you hate me. Such is life..._

_I'm sorry, really!_

_One, or possibly two, more chapters of this birthday to come. I hope to be quicker with them, really._

Please read and review.

**1st April 1999** **Fred and George Weasley's birthday. George Weasley is 21.**

**The Graveyard, Ottery St. Catchpole**

As he approached the grave, Bill realised that he had no idea at all what he was going to say to either of his brothers. With Charlie in his current volatile state of mind, it was likely that anything at all might set him to disappearing again. And Percy – Bill knew, as did they all, that Percy was still very far from having come to terms with Fred's death.

So wrapped up were they in each other and in their own feelings, that neither Charlie nor Percy noticed Bill's presence until he joined them, dropping to his knees beside Percy and putting a hand on his arm. Charlie looked up, his expression wary, almost hostile, but Percy kept his head bowed, struggling to steady his uneven breathing. The look on Charlie's face told Bill clearly enough that he would do well to concentrate on Percy, at least for the moment.

"C'mon Perce," he said quietly. "You can't stay here. It's bloody freezing, apart from anything else."

Percy choked, scrubbing at his eyes behind his glasses. "I – I can't go home," he spluttered. "I just can't. Not – not yet."

"Okay," Bill said. "Come back to Shell Cottage then. We'll worry about going to The Burrow later."

Percy lifted his eyes, still wet with tears, to Bill's face. "I – I _can't _Bill. I don't – I don't know how to do this."

Bill's mouth twisted, and his eyes were very sombre as he replied. "None of us do, Percy," he said. "We're making this up as we go along. But we have to find a way to do it somehow."

Percy bit his lip and nodded, struggling to his feet. Bill looked across at Charlie, who had not moved or spoken since Bill's arrival, and who had not even looked at him after that initial wary glance.

"Charlie?" Bill asked, keeping his voice carefully neutral. "Eleri's at Shell Cottage. She came there looking for you. You need to let her know what you're doing."

"I guess." Charlie's tone was surly, and he was still avoiding his brother's eyes. "But I'm not coming to the party. I can't."

Bill shrugged. "Mum's not expecting you," he said flatly. "And I don't have the energy to argue with you, Char. Not today. You know well enough what you ought to do."

He took Percy's arm and Apparated the pair of them to the cottage, not bothering to wait and see whether Charlie would follow them or not. Charlie looked blankly at the place where they had been for a long minute before shaking himself and Disapparating.

**Shell Cottage**

When Bill and Percy entered the kitchen at Shell Cottage, Fleur and Eleri were still sitting at the table, deep in conversation. It was obvious that they had hit it off. They both raised their eyebrows at the sight of Percy when they had been expecting Charlie, but Bill forestalled their questions.

"Charlie's coming – I think," he said, and Fleur saw the spark of anger in his eyes if Eleri did not. "But he says he's not coming to the party. I'm through arguing with him."

Eleri opened her mouth to say something, but thought better of it and remained silent. Bill crossed the kitchen and began making tea and toast, and Percy sat down at the table opposite Fleur. As the awkward silence was becoming unbearable, there was a crack from outside and Eleri stood up.

"That'll be Charlie," she murmured. "I'll go and see what's happening." She went out through the back door, and Fleur looked at her husband.

"Zis ees not 'er fault, Bill," she said quietly. "Eet ees 'orribly awkward for 'er."

"I know." Bill placed a mug of tea and a plate of toast in front of Percy and came to sit beside Fleur with his own tea. "I'm sorry." He shook his head. "But I can't argue with him any more. It's like banging your head against a brick wall. He's a stubborn bastard when he chooses."

Fleur leant over and kissed him. "Family trait," she informed him, smiling slightly. Both Bill and Percy glared at her, but neither of them argued.

A few minutes later, Eleri re-entered the kitchen, her face troubled.

"He won't budge," she said. "I've tried to talk him round, but… I'm sorry."

Bill grimaced. "It's not your fault," he said. "Thanks for trying."

Eleri shrugged. "I did my best. Well – I guess I'll be seeing you." She sketched a wave and left again.

**The Burrow**

At The Burrow, preparations for the party were well underway. Ron, Harry and George were putting long tables outside the back door to hold the food. It was fortunate that it was a dry day, even if it was far from warm. Ginny and Hermione had been pressed into service in the kitchen. Molly was worrying about Percy's absence.

"He'll be fine, love," Arthur said reassuringly, although he was worried himself. They all knew how hard Percy had taken Fred's death. "Bill will make sure he's okay, you know he will."

"I suppose," Molly said in a small voice, burying her face in her husband's chest. "Oh Arthur – perhaps this wasn't a good idea after all."

Arthur wisely refrained from making any comment, merely patting his wife's back gently until she pulled away from him, wiping her eyes on her apron.

"Since we are having a party, we'd better get on with it," she said, with a creditable attempt at her usual briskness. "Take these out, Arthur, please." She handed him a pile of plates and cutlery, and he obeyed without argument. The preparations continued, and a few minutes later, Bill, Fleur and Percy arrived, Percy looking shamefaced as he kissed his mother, who just looked relieved to see him.

"I don't suppose you've heard from Charlie?" she asked Bill, somewhat wistfully, after she had established Fleur in the armchair by the kitchen fireplace, with strict instructions that she was not to move or do anything, ignoring her daughter-in-law's protests that she was quite well now and able to help.

Bill shook his head. "He's not coming, Mum," he hedged, turning away from his mother rapidly so that she would not see the colour rising in his face. Grown up they might be, but none of Molly's children were any good at lying to her even now.

Molly sighed, and blinked rapidly. "Oh well, I suppose it was a bit much to have all of you here…" Her voice hitched on the realisation that having all her children there was no longer possible and she turned rapidly back to the larder. Bill went outside with a tray full of glasses, glad to escape his mother's scrutiny.

"I assume Charlie's not coming, then?" George asked him as he emerged from the back door.

"No. You didn't say anything to Mum and Dad about seeing him, I gather?" Bill replied.

George shook his head. "Seemed better not to," he said. "Just as well, I guess." He kicked moodily at a stone. "Stupid sod. We could've done with him here."

"Yeah, we could," Bill agreed, putting the glasses onto one of the long tables. "But he isn't, so we'll have to cope without him." He looked keenly at his brother. "You okay, George?"

George kicked at another stone. "I dunno, Bill, really. I don't know how the hell to do this. I'm not supposed to have a birthday to myself. It feels all wrong."

Bill sighed. "I know. It feels wrong to all of us. I'm sorry, George. I wish I had some answers."

George managed a slightly feeble grin. "You and me both."

They were interrupted by a crash as the pile of plates that Ron had been arranging on the end of the table went flying as Crookshanks chased a gnome out of the cabbage patch and onto the table.

"Bloody cat!" Ron growled, and Hermione rushed to rescue her pet from Ron's anger. The rest of them pulled out wands to repair the mess of broken crockery on the ground.

The little incident broke the tension slightly, and there was an almost normal buzz of conversation as they finished the preparations, although Percy was still white-faced and anxious-looking, and Ron had a look of resentment in his eyes that no one except Hermione noticed. In a little while, however, even Molly could not think of anything more that needed doing, and they were left with over an hour before the first of the other guests were due.

They stood and sat around in the kitchen with mugs of tea, no one speaking much. In the end, Molly put her own mug down with a bang.

"I'm going to the graveyard," she announced. "There's time before people arrive, and it – it's Fred's birthday too." She looked round at them all, their expressions varying from worried to upset. "I don't mind if no one else is coming with me, but I'm going." She crossed the kitchen and pulled down a cloak from the hooks by the back door.

In the end they all went, although Ron and Percy both seemed reluctant – but were equally reluctant to be left at home. They stood around the grave, each lost in their own thoughts and no one saying much. When they left, half an hour or so later, there was a heap of flowers on the grave, a bright red windmill contributed by Hermione, of all people, and a birthday cake with twenty-one candles that George had managed to conjure despite the tears blinding his vision.

Somehow the little interlude helped, and all of them felt more prepared to welcome the guests once they returned to The Burrow. They were beginning to think they might get through this party despite everything.


	80. The Twins' Birthday: III

_I know it has been more or less forever since I updated this, and I apologise. I just could not get anyone to do as I wanted, so I decided to ignore the lot of them for a while and see if that helped. I hope you will forgive me and still read and review!_

_This story was only intended to be 20 or so chapters long, and got severely out of hand. In an ideal world, with inifinite time at my disposal, I would go back and edit it drastically, and probably make at least two spearate stories of it. Realistically, that ain't gonna happen, so I hope you will bear with it as it is..._

_If, if, if, my calculations are right, there should be two or three more chapters and an epilogue. I really hope you won't have to wait so long for the next update._

**1st April 1999** **Fred and George Weasley's birthday. George Weasley is 21.**

**The Burrow**

Arthur surveyed the noisy group in the yard, looking around for his children. Adult they might be, but he needed to know that they were all alright – or as alright as they could be on such a day. Bill was in the corner by the back door, his arm around Fleur, who was talking animatedly to Andromeda Tonks, and laughing at Teddy. The baby was resisting his grandmother's attempts to stop him pulling Fleur's hair. Teddy's own hair was lightening by the minute, and was nearly as silvery fair as Fleur's own. Arthur could see that Bill was not paying much attention to the two women's conversation. He was smiling and nodding occasionally, but his father could see a faraway look in his eyes.

Percy was on the far side of the yard, talking to Oliver Wood. Penny was there too, and Oliver's girlfriend (Arthur could not remember her name, although he knew that she had been on the Gryffindor Quidditch team with the twins, and he had heard them mention it often enough). He heaved a small sigh of relief at the sight of his third son; Percy looked happier than he had done for days. Perhaps he had got the worst of his grief for Fred out of his system with his early morning disappearance – at least for the time being.

George, Ron and Ginny were all part of a group of noisy young people around the food table. Harry and Hermione were there too. George was laughing at something that Lee had said, and if there was a slightly too determined note to his laughter, at least he was managing it. He was coping with today better than Arthur had expected – at least so far. Ginny too seemed happy enough – and there was a glint in her eye which reminded her father of Fred when he was planning something.

Ron was a different matter. He was on the edge of the group with Hermione, who was talking earnestly to him. He looked deeply unhappy, and there was a stormy look in his eyes which Arthur knew boded ill. He sighed, and looked around for Molly. She had just come out of the back door with a plate of food, and although she was saying something to Andromeda, her eyes were fixed on Ron. Arthur could see that she was worried too.

Suddenly, there was a disturbance amongst the young people by the table. George was separating himself from the others there, and heading over to the gate, where Charlie had just appeared, looking slightly sheepish. Eleri was behind him. In no time at all, it seemed, Charlie was surrounded by a small crowd of people, all apparently delighted to see him. It did not escape Arthur's notice, even as he followed Molly over to where Charlie was standing himself, that neither Bill nor Ron seemed to be in any hurry to greet their brother. Bill was frowning, and shaking his head at something Fleur was saying to him. Ron was positively scowling. Neither of them made any move to approach Charlie.

Molly and Arthur had worried slightly about what would happen once the informal lunch part of the party was over, but it seemed that George and his friends had made plans for this. Once the last of the plates were cleared, broomsticks were pulled out from under the tables, from the corner by the gate and from the shed. It appeared that Quidditch was the order of the day. Lee looked round with a grin.

"You realise we've got _four _Gryffindor Quidditch captains here?" he inquired.

Harry whispered something to Angelina, who laughed and nodded.

"Angelina and I are deferring to our elders," Harry said. "Oliver and Charlie can pick sides."

"Elders and betters?" asked Charlie with a grin, but Angelina glared at him.

"Watch it, Weasley – he never said that!"

With much laughter, and no little argument, sides were sorted out, and they headed for the paddock. Bill, whose arm was still bandaged, although he had rid himself of his sling at last, was told he was refereeing despite his protests. Those who were not playing ranged themselves around the edge of the paddock to watch, and the game began. It was good-natured and noisy, with no little cheating from both sides. Oliver's team was beating Charlie's by twelve goals to eight, and half of Charlie's team were still arguing about the last disputed goal with Bill, who was refusing to disallow it, when Ron, wielding a Beater's bat with more enthusiasm than skill, sent a Bludger straight at Charlie's face. There was no doubt from Ron's expression that it was deliberate, and he was too close for Charlie to dodge in time. Fortunately, George, also with a bat in hand, was close enough to intercept the Bludger and send it spinning away, before turning on his brother furiously.

"What the hell are you playing at, Ron?"

Ron muttered something incomprehensible, dropped his bat and landed, leaving his broomstick where it fell and walking off beyond the line of trees at the edge of the paddock. There was a minute or two of silence while the players digested what had happened, and Arthur, who had been sitting with Molly at one end of the paddock, pulled himself to his feet and went after Ron. The others looked at each other and then there was a general shrugging of shoulders and an unspoken decision to pretend the incident had never happened and continue the game. But a lot of the fun had gone out of it, and it soon ended, Oliver's team coming out victorious fourteen goals to nine.

Arthur, meanwhile, had caught up with Ron in a corner of the orchard. He was leaning against a tree, looking both furious and unhappy.

"What was that all about, son?" Arthur asked mildly.

Ron turned away from him, and for a full two minutes ignored both the question and his father's presence. Arthur was just drawing breath to try again, when Ron muttered, "Charlie."

"I rather gathered that much," Arthur said. "Why?"

Ron shook his head, and kicked moodily at a tuft of grass. "He's mucked everyone about so much," he complained. "Saying he wasn't coming. Upsetting Mum, and – and everyone. Then he turns up, and everyone is so pleased to see him, and no one seems to remember the people who…" His voice trailed off uncertainly, but his father had realised what he meant.

"The people who are here all the time?" he asked quietly, walking forward, and risking putting a hand on Ron's shoulder. "Ron, we know…" His voice cracked, and he swallowed and carried on. "We know how hard this last year has been for you. But your mother and me, we're so proud of what you've done, how you've been there for George, put your own plans on hold for him. Perhaps we should have said more about it. I'm sorry if you think we've taken you for granted, Ron."

Ron's face was scarlet now, and he shook his head. "It's not that, it…" He kicked at the tuft of grass again. "I don't _know_!" He turned to face his father for the first time. "Is it always going to be this hard, Dad?"

Arthur pulled him into a brief hug. "I don't know, son," he said. "I don't know. I hope not, I really do."

The two of them walked in silence to the yard at the back of the house where everyone else was gathered. Molly had been looking out for them, and Arthur gave her a reassuring smile, and went over to her. Ron joined Harry and Hermione, who both gave him searching looks, but said nothing.

Molly had just brought a large cake, decorated in Weasley's Wizard Wheezes magenta and gold, out and placed it on the table by the back door. People were gathering around, and there was an atmosphere of forced gaiety that seemed unavoidable. George had been at the back of the throng with Percy and Oliver, but was pushing his way to the front at their insistence, a strained smile fixed on his face. No one really wanted to do this, but somehow it had to be got through.

George had decided that the only was not to look at anyone at all. A quick glance at his mother's face was enough to confirm this idea. She was smiling, but her eyes were sad, and George knew it would not take much to send her over the edge into tears. He bit his own lip hard. Just so long as no one forgot and sang "_Fred and_ George"…

There was a pause when everyone seemed to be looking at George, and no one was quite sure what they were waiting for. Then Ginny realised, and flicked her wand to light the twenty-one candles on the cake. It was she who began the singing, though the others joined in enthusiastically enough. There was a beat before the "George" where Fred's name should have gone, but no one slipped up and sang it. George heaved an inward sigh of relief as the song finished and bent over to blow out the candles. He had never done it alone before, and he failed miserably to get them all in one go. There was a sort of strangled cheer as he blew the last few out and straightened up, looking at his friends and family. That was a mistake. He saw Angelina and Katie, both with tears on their faces; Lee hiding his face in his hands; Percy looking stricken, and Charlie pushing his way through the crowd to escape with Bill close behind him. George felt his own self-control slipping.

Ginny had seen. She came over from where she had been standing with her mother, and put her arms round him. George returned the hug gratefully, hiding his face and his sudden tears in her hair.


End file.
